DANGER ! 

AND  OTHER  STORIES 

A.CONAN  DOYLE 


DANGER! 

AND  OTHER  STORIES 


BY  A.  CONAN  DOYLE 

DANGER!  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

His  LAST  Bow 

THE  VALLEY  OF  FEAR 

THE  POISON  BELT 

THE  LOST  WORLD 

THE  NEW  REVELATION 

A  HISTORY  OF  THE  GREAT  WAR 

THE  GERMAN  WAR 

THE  CASE  OF  OSCAR  SLATER 

GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 


DANGER! 

AND  OTHER  STORIES 


BY 

A.  CONAN  DOYLE 

AUTHOR  OF  "HIS  LAST  BOW,"  "THE  ADVENTURES  OF  SHERLOCK 
HOLMES,"    ETC. 


NEW  XHr  YORK 

GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1911,  1913,  1914,  1918,  191&, 
BY  A.  CONAN  DOYLE 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


PREFACE 


The  Title  story  of  this  volume  was  written 
about  eighteen  months  before  the  outbreak 
of  the  war,  and  was  intended  to  direct  public 
attention  to  the  great  danger  which  threatened 
this  country.  It  is  a  matter  of  history  how  fully 
this  warning  has  been  justified  and  how,  even 
down  to  the  smallest  details,  the  prediction  has 
been  fulfilled.  The  writer  must,  however,  most 
thankfully  admit  that  what  he  did  not  foresee 
was  the  energy  and  ingenuity  with  which  the  navy 
has  found  means  to  meet  the  new  conditions.  The 
great  silent  battle  which  has  been  fought  beneath 
the  waves  has  ended  in  the  repulse  of  an  armada 
far  more  dangerous  than  that  of  Spain. 

It  may  be  objected  that  the  writer,  feeling  the 
danger  so  strongly,  should  have  taken  other 
means  than  fiction  to  put  his  views  before  the 
authorities.  The  answer  to  this  criticism  is  that 
he  did  indeed  adopt  every  possible  method,  that 

W 


PREFACE 

he  personally  approached  leading  naval  men  and 
powerful  editors,  that  he  sent  three  separate  min- 
utes upon  the  danger  to  various  public  bodies, 
notably  to  the  Committee  for  National  Defence, 
and  that  he  touched  upon  the  matter  in  an  article 
in  the  Fortnightly  Review.  In  some  unfortunate 
way,  subjects  of  national  welfare  are  in  this  coun- 
try continually  subordinated  to  party  politics  so 
that  a  self-evident  proposition,  such  as  the  dan- 
ger of  a  nation  being  fed  from  without,  is  waved 
aside  and  ignored,  because  it  will  not  fit  in  with 
some  general  political  shibboleth.  It  is  against 
this  tendency  that  we  have  to  guard  in  the  future, 
and  we  have  to  bear  in  mind  that  the  danger 
may  recur,  and  that  the  remedies  in  the  text 
(the  only  remedies  ever  proposed)  have  still  to 
be  adopted.  They  are  the  sufficient  encourage- 
ment of  agriculture,  the  making  of  adequate 
channel  tunnels,  and  the  provision  of  submarine 
merchant  men,  which,  on  the  estimate  of  Mr. 
Lake,  the  American  designer,  could  be  made  up 
to  7,000  ton  burden  at  an  increased  cost  of  about 
25  per  cent.  It  is  true  that  in  this  war  the 
channel  tunnels  would  not  have  helped  us  much 
in  the  matter  of  food,  but  were  France  a  neutral 
fvil 


PREFACE 


and  supplies  at  liberty  to  come  via  Marseilles 
from  the  East  the  difference  would  have  been 
enormous.  Apart  from  food,  however,  when  one 
considers  the  transports  we  have  needed,  their 
convoys,  the  double  handling  of  cargo,  the  inter- 
ruptions of  traffic  from  submarines  or  bad 
weather,  the  danger  and  suffering  of  the 
wounded,  and  all  else  that  we  owe  to  the  insane 
opposition  to  the  Channel  Tunnels,  one  questions 
whether  there  has  ever  been  an  example  of  na- 
tional stupidity  being  so  rapidly  and  heavily 
punished.  It  is  as  clear  as  daylight  even  now 
that  it  will  take  years  to  recover  all  our  men 
and  material  from  France,  and  that  if  the  tun- 
nel (one  will  suffice  for  the  time)  were  at  once 
set  in  hand,  it  might  be  ready  to  help  in  this 
task  and  so  free  shipping  for  the  return  of  the 
Americans. 

One  thing,  however,  is  clear.  It  is  far  too  big 
and  responsible  and  lucrative  an  undertaking 
for  a  private  company,  and  it  should  be  carried 
out  and  controlled  by  Government,  the  proceeds 
being  used  towards  the  war  debt. 

ARTHUR  CONAN  DOYLE. 
Crowborough 

Mi] 


( 

CONTENTS 

DANGER!  . 

i 

PAGE 

13 

ONE  CROWDED  HOUR 

ii 

70 

A  POINT  OF  VIEW 

in 

96 

THE  FALL  OF  LORD  I 

IV 
JARRYMORE 

.      105 

THE  HORROR  OF  THE 

V 

HEIGHTS  . 

.      131 

BORROWED  SCENES     . 

VI 

.     163 

THE  SURGEON  OF  GAS 

VII 

TER  FELL 

185 

VIII 
How  IT  HAPPENED 226 

IX 
THE  PRISONER'S  DEFENCE          .....     234 

X 

THREE  OF  THEM  : 

I.     A    CHAT    ABOUT    CHILDREN,    SNAKES,    AND 

ZEBUS  ...  ...  259 

II.       ABOUT    CRICKET    ......  274 

III.  SPECULATIONS         ...  ...  288 

IV.  THE   LEATHERSKIN  TRIBE         ....  298 

[9] 


DANGER!  AND  OTHER  STORIES 


I 

DANGER ! 

BEING  THE  LOG  OF  CAPTAIN  JOHN  SIRITJS 

IT  is  an  amazing  thing  that  the  English,  who 
have  the  reputation  of  being  a  practical  na- 
tion, never  saw  the  danger  to  which  they  were 
exposed.  For  many  years  they  had  been  spend- 
ing nearly  a  hundred  millions  a  year  upon  their 
army  and  their  fleet.  Squadrons  of  Dread- 
noughts costing  two  millions  each  had  been 
launched.  They  had  spent  enormous  sums  upon 
cruisers,  and  both  their  torpedo  and  their  sub- 
marine squadrons  were  exceptionally  strong. 
They  were  also  by  no  means  weak  in  their  aerial 
power,  especially  in  the  matter  of  hydroplanes. 
Besides  all  this,  their  army  was  very  efficient,  in 
spite  of  its  limited  numbers,  and  it  was  the  most 
expensive  in  Europe.  Yet  when  the  day  of  trial 
[13] 


DANGER! 


came,  all  this  imposing  force  was  of  no  use 
whatever,  and  might  as  well  have  not  existed. 
Their  ruin  could  not  have  been  more  complete  or 
more  rapid  if  they  had  not  possessed  an  ironclad 
or  a  regiment.  And  all  this  was  accomplished 
by  me,  Captain  John  Sirius,  belonging  to  the 
navy  of  one  of  the  smallest  Powers  in  Europe, 
and  having  under  my  command  a  flotilla  of  eight 
vessels,  the  collective  cost  of  which  was  eighteen 
hundred  thousand  pounds.  No  one  has  a  better 
right  to  tell  the  story  than  I. 

I  will  not  trouble  you  about  the  dispute  con- 
cerning the  Colonial  frontier,  embittered,  as  it 
was,  by  the  subsequent  death  of  the  two  mis- 
sionaries. A  naval  officer  has  nothing  to  do 
with  politics.  I  only  came  upon  the  scene  after 
the  ultimatum  had  been  actually  received.  Ad- 
miral Horli  had  been  summoned  to  the  Presence, 
and  he  asked  that  I  should  be  allowed  to  ac- 
company him,  because  he  happened  to  know  that 
I  had  some  clear  ideas  as  to  the  weak  points  of 
England,  and  also  some  schemes  as  to  how  to 
take  advantage  of  them.  There  were  only  four 
of  us  present  at  this  meeting — the  King,  the 
Foreign  Secretary,  Admiral  Horli,  and  myself. 
[14] 


DANGER ! 


The  time  allowed  by  the  ultimatum  expired  in 
forty-eight  hours. 

I  am  not  breaking  any  confidence  when  I 
say  that  both  the  King  and  the  Minister  were 
in  favour  of  a  surrender.  They  saw  no  possibil- 
ity of  standing  up  against  the  colossal  power  of 
Great  Britain.  The  Minister  had  drawn  up  an 
acceptance  of  the  British  terms,  and  the  King  sat 
with  it  before  him  on  the  table.  I  saw  the  tears 
of  anger  and  humiliation  run  down  his  cheeks 
as  he  looked  at  it. 

"I  fear  that  there  is  no  possible  alternative, 
Sire,"  said  the  Minister.  "Our  envoy  in  London 
has  just  sent  this  report,  which  shows  that  the 
public  and  the  Press  are  more  united  than  he 
has  ever  known  them.  The  feeling  is  intense, 
especially  since  the  rash  act  of  Malort  in  dese- 
crating the  flag.  We  must  give  way." 

The  King  looked  sadly  at  Admiral  Horli. 

"What  is  your  effective  fleet,  Admiral?"  he 
asked. 

"Two  battleships,  four  cruisers,  twenty  tor- 
pedo-boats, and  eight  submarines,"  said  the  Ad- 
miral. 

The  King  shook  his  head. 

[15] 


DANGER ! 


"It  would  be  madness  to  resist,"  said  he. 

"And  yet,  Sire,"  said  the  Admiral,  "before 
you  come  to  a  decision  I  should  wish  you  to  hear 
Captain  Sirius,  who  has  a  very  definite  plan  of 
campaign  against  the  English." 

"Absurd!"  said  the  King,  impatiently.  "What 
is  the  use?  Do  you  imagine  that  you  could  de- 
feat their  vast  armada?" 

"Sire,"  I  answered,  "I  will  stake  my  life  that 
if  you  will  follow  my  advice  you  will,  within  a 
month  or  six  weeks  at  the  utmost,  bring  proud 
England  to  her  knees." 

There  was  an  assurance  in  my  voice  which 
arrested  the  attention  of  the  King. 

"You  seem  self-confident,  Captain  Sirius." 

"I  have  no  doubt  at  all,  Sire." 

"What  then  would  you  advise?" 

"I  would  advise,  Sire,  that  the  whole  fleet  be 
gathered  under  the  forts  of  Blankenberg  and  be 
protected  from  attack  by  booms  and  piles.  There 
they  can  stay  till  the  war  is  over.  The  eight 
submarines,  however,  you  will  leave  in  my  charge 
to  use  as  I  think  fit." 

"Ah,  you  would  attack  the  English  battleships 
with  submarines?" 
[16] 


DANGER ! 


"Sire,  I  would  never  go  near  an  English  battle- 
ship." 

"And  why  not?" 

"Because  they  might  injure  me,  Sire." 

"What,  a  sailor  and  afraid?" 

"My  life  belongs  to  the  country,  Sire.  It 
is  nothing.  But  these  eight  ships — everything 
depends  upon  them.  I  could  not  risk  them. 
Xothing  would  induce  me  to  fight." 

"Then  what  will  you  do?" 

"I  will  tell  you,  Sire."  And  I  did  so.  For 
half  an  hour  I  spoke.  I  was  clear  and  strong 
and  definite,  for  many  an  hour  on  a  lonely  watch 
I  had  spent  in  thinking  out  every  detail.  I  held 
them  enthralled.  The  King  never  took  his  eyes 
from  my  face.  The  Minister  sat  as  if  turned  to 
stone. 

"Are  you  sure  of  all  this?" 

"Perfectly,  Sire." 

The  King  rose  from  the  table. 

"Send  no  answer  to  the  ultimatum,"  said  he. 
"Announce  in  both  houses  that  we  stand  firm 
in  the  face  of  menace.  Admiral  Horli,  you  will 
in  all  respects  carry  out  that  which  Captain 
Sirius  may  demand  in  furtherance  of  his  plan. 

[17] 


DANGER! 


Captain  Sirius,  the  field  is  clear.  Go  forth  and 
do  as  you  have  said.  A  grateful  King  will  know 
how  to  reward  you." 

I  need  not  trouble  you  by  telling  you  the 
measures  which  were  taken  at  Blankenberg,  since, 
as  you  are  aware,  the  fortress  and  the  entire  fleet 
were  destroyed  by  the  British  within  a  week  of 
the  declaration  of  war.  I  will  confine  myself  to 
my  own  plans,  which  had  so  glorious  and  final  a 
result. 

The  fame  of  my  eight  submarines,  Alpha, 
Beta,  Gamma,  Theta,  Delta,  Epsilon,  Iota,  and 
Kappa,  have  spread  through  the  world  to  such 
an  extent  that  people  have  begun  to  think  that 
there  was  something  peculiar  in  their  form  and 
capabilities.  This  is  not  so.  Four  of  them,  the 
Delta,  Epsilon,  Iota,  and  Kappa,  were,  it  is 
true,  of  the  very  latest  model,  but  had  their  equals 
(though  not  their  superiors)  in  the  navies  of  all 
the  great  Powers.  As  to  Alpha,  Beta,  Gamma, 
and  Theta,  they  were  by  no  means  modern  ves- 
sels, and  found  their  prototypes  in  the  old  F 
class  of  British  boats,  having  a  submerged  dis- 
placement of  eight  hundred  tons,  with  heavy  oil 
engines  of  sixteen  hundred  horse-power,  giving 
[18] 


DANGER! 


them  a  speed  of  eighteen  knots  on  the  surface  and 
of  twelve  knots  submerged.  Their  length  was 
one  hundred  and  eighty-six  and  their  breadth 
twenty-four  feet.  They  had  a  radius  of  action 
of  four  thousand  miles  and  a  submerged  endur- 
ance of  nine  hours.  These  were  considered  the 
latest  word  in  1915,  but  the  four  new  boats  ex- 
ceeded them  in  all  respects.  Without  troubling 
you  with  precise  figures,  I  may  say  that  they 
represented  roughly  a  twenty-five  per  cent,  ad- 
vance upon  the  older  boats,  and  were  fitted  with 
several  auxiliary  engines  which  were  wanting  in 
the  others.  At  my  suggestion,  instead  of 
carrying  eight  of  the  very  large  Bakdorf  tor- 
pedoes, which  are  nineteen  feet  long,  weigh  half 
a  ton,  and  are  charged  with  two  hundred  pounds 
of  wet  gun-cotton,  we  had  tubes  designed  for 
eighteen  of  less  than  half  the  size.  It  was  my 
design  to  make  myself  independent  of  my  base. 
And  yet  it  was  clear  that  I  must  have  a  base, 
so  I  made  arrangements  at  once  with  that  object. 
Blankenberg  was  the  last  place  I  would  have 
chosen.  Why  should  I  have  a  port  of  any  kind? 
Ports  would  be  watched  or  occupied.  Any  place 
would  do  for  me.  I  finally  chose  a  small  villa 

[10] 


DANGER! 


standing  alone  nearly  five  miles  from  any  village 
and  thirty  miles  from  any  port.  To  this  I  ordered 
them  to  convey,  secretly  by  night,  oil,  spare  parts, 
extra  torpedoes,  storage  batteries,  reserve  peri- 
scopes, and  everything  that  I  could  need  for 
refitting.  The  little  whitewashed  villa  of  a  re- 
tired confectioner — that  was  the  base  from  which 
I  operated  against  England. 

The  boats  lay  at  Blankenberg,  and  thither  I 
went.  They  were  working  frantically  at  the  de- 
fences, and  they  had  only  to  look  seawards  to 
be  spurred  to  fresh  exertions.  The  British  fleet' 
was  assembling.  The  ultimatum  had  not  yet  ex- 
pired, but  it  was  evident  that  a  blow  would  be 
struck  the  instant  that  it  did.  Four  of  their 
aeroplanes,  circling  at  an  immense  height,  were 
surveying  our  defences.  From  the  top  of  the 
lighthouse  I  counted  thirty  battleships  and  cruis- 
ers in  the  offing,  with  a  number  of  the  trawlers 
with  which  in  the  British  service  they  break 
through  the  mine-fields.  The  approaches  were 
actually  sown  with  two  hundred  mines,  half  con- 
tact and  half  observation,  but  the  result  showed 
that  they  were  insufficient  to  hold  off  the  enemy, 
[20] 


DANGER ! 


since  three  days  later  both  town  and  fleet  were 
speedily  destroyed. 

However,  I  am  not  here  to  tell  you  the  in- 
cidents of  the  war,  but-  to  explain  my  own  part 
in  it,  which  had  such  a  decisive  effect  upon  the 
result.  My  first  action  was  to  send  my  four 
second-class  boats  away  instantly  to  the  point 
which  I  had  chosen  for  jny  base.  There  they 
were  to  wait  submerged,  lying  with  negative 
buoyancy  upon  the  sands  in  twenty  foot  of  water, 
and  rising  only  at  night.  My  strict  orders  were 
that  they  were  to  attempt  nothing  upon  the 
enemy,  however  tempting  the  opportunity.  All 
they  had  to  do  was  to  remain  intact  and  unseen, 
until  they  received  further  orders.  Having  made 
this  clear  to  Commander  Panza,  who  had  charge 
of  this  reserve  flotilla,  I  shook  him  by  the  hand 
and  bade  him  farewell,  leaving  with  him  a  sheet 
of  notepaper  upon  which  I  had  explained  the 
tactics  to  be  used  and  given  him  certain  general 
principles  which  he  could  apply  as  circumstances 
demanded. 

My  whole  attention  was  now  given  to  my  own 
flotilla,  which  I  divided  into  two  divisions,  keep- 
ing Iota  and  Kappa  under  my  own  command, 

[21] 


DANGER ! 


while  Captain  Miriam  had  Delta  and  Epsilon. 
He  was  to  operate  separately  in  the  British  Chan- 
nel, while  my  station  was  the  Straits  of  Dover. 
I  made  the  whole  plan  of  campaign  clear  to  him. 
Then  I  saw  that  each  ship  was  provided  with 
all  it  could  carry.  Each  had  forty  tons  of  heavy 
oil  for  surface  propulsion  and  charging  the  dy- 
namo which  supplied  the  electric  engines  under 
water.  Each  had  also  eighteen  torpedoes  as  ex- 
plained and  five  hundred  rounds  for  the  collap- 
sible quick-firing  twelve-pounder  which  we  car- 
ried on  deck,  and  which,  of  course,  disappeared 
into  a  water-tight  tank  when  we  were  submerged. 
We  carried  spare  periscopes  and  a  wireless  mast, 
which  could  be  elevated  above  the  conning-tower 
when  necessary.  There  were  provisions  for  six- 
teen days  for  the  ten  men  who  manned  each 
craft.  Such  was  the  equipment  of  the  four  boats 
which  were  destined  to  bring  to  naught  all  the 
navies  and  armies  of  Britain.  At  sundown  that 
day — it  was  April  10th — we  set  forth  upon  our 
historic  voyage. 

Miriam  had  got  away  in  the  afternoon,  since 
he  had  so  much  farther  to  go  to  reach  his  station. 
Stephan,  of  the  Kappa,  started  with  me ;  but,  of 
[22] 


DANGER! 


course,  we  realise  that  we  must  work  independ- 
ently, and  that  from  that  moment  when  we  shut 
the  sliding  hatches  of  our  conning-towers  on  the 
still  waters  of  Blankenberg  Harbour  it  was  un- 
likely that  we  should  ever  see  each  other  again, 
though  consorts  in  the  same  waters.  I  waved 
to  Stephan  from  the  side  of  my  conning-tower, 
and  lie  to  me.  Then  I  called  through  the  tube 
to  my  engineer  (our  water-tanks  were  already 
filled  and  all  kingstons  and  vents  closed)  to  put 
her  full  speed  ahead. 

Just  as  we  came  abreast  of  the  end  of  the  pier 
and  saw  the  white-capped  waves  rolling  in  upon 
us,  I  put  the  horizontal  rudder  hard  down  and 
she  slid  under  water.  Through  my  glass  port- 
holes I  saw  its  light  green  change  to  a  dark  blue, 
while  the  manometer  in  front  of  me  indicated 
twenty  feet.  I  let  her  go  to  forty,  because  I 
should  then  be  under  the  warships  of  the  English, 
though  I  took  the  chance  of  fouling  the  moor- 
ings of  our  own  floating  contact  mines.  Then  I 
brought  her  on  an  even  keel,  and  it  was  music 
to  my  ear  to  hear  the  gentle,  even  ticking  of  my 
electric  engines  and  to  know  that  I  was  speeding 
at  twelve  miles  an  hour  on  my  great  task. 

[23] 


DANGER! 


At  that  moment,  as  I  stood  controlling  my 
levers  in  my  tower,  I  could  have  seen,  had  my 
cupola  been  of  glass,  the  vast  shadows  of  the 
British  blockaders  hovering  above  me.  I  held 
my  course  due  westward  for  ninety  minutes,  and 
then,  by  shutting  off  the  electric  engine  without 
blowing  out  the  water-tanks,  I  brought  her  to 
the  surface.  There  was  a  rolling  sea  and  the 
wind  was  freshening,  so  I  did  not  think  it  safe 
to  keep  my  hatch  open  long,  for  so  small  is  the 
margin  of  buoyancy  that  one  must  run  no  risks. 
But  from  the  crests  of  the  rollers  I  had  a  look 
backwards  at  Blankenberg,  and  saw  the  black 
funnels  and  upper  works  of  the  enemy's  fleet  with 
the  lighthouse  and  the  castle  behind  them,  all 
flushed  with  the  pink  glow  of  the  setting  sun. 
Even  as  I  looked  there  was  the  boom  of  a  great 
gun,  and  then  another.  I  glanced  at  my  watch. 
It  was  six  o'clock.  The  time  of  the  ultimatum 
had  expired.  We  were  at  war. 

There  was  no  craft  near  us,  and  our  surface 
speed  is  nearly  twice  that  of  our  submerged,  so 
I  blew  out  the  tanks  and  our  whale-back  came 
over  the  surface.  All  night  we  were  steering 
south-west,  making  an  average  of  eighteen  knots. 
[24] 


DANGER! 


At  about  five  in  the  morning,  as  I  stood  alone 
upon  my  tiny  bridge,  I  saw,  low  down  in  the 
west,  the  scattered  lights  of  the  Norfolk  coast. 
"Ah,  Johnny,  Johnny  Bull,"  I  said,  as  I  looked 
at  them,  "you  are  going  to  have  your  lesson,  and 
I  am  to  be  your  master.  It  is  I  who  have  been 
chosen  to  teach  you  that  one  cannot  live  under 
artificial  conditions  and  yet  act  as  if  they  were 
natural  ones.  More  foresight,  Johnny,  and  less 
party  politics — that  is  my  lesson  to  you."  And 
then  I  had  a  wave  of  pity,  too,  when  I  thought 
of  those  vast  droves  of  helpless  people,  York- 
shire miners,  Lancashire  spinners,  Birmingham 
metal-workers,  the  dockers  and  workers  of  Lon- 
don, over  whose  little  homes  I  would  bring  the 
shadow  of  starvation.  I  seemed  to  see  all  those 
wasted  eager  hands  held  out  for  food,  and  I, 
John  Sirius,  dashing  it  aside.  Ah,  well!  war  is 
war,  and  if  one  is  foolish  one  must  pay  the  price. 
Just  before  daybreak  I  saw  the  lights  of  a 
considerable  town,  which  must  have  been  Yar- 
mouth, bearing  about  ten  miles  west-south-west 
on  our  starboard  bow.  I  took  her  farther  out,  for 
it  is  a  sandy,  dangerous  coast,  with  many  shoals. 
At  five-thirty  we  were  abreast  of  the  Lowestoft 

[25] 


DANGER! 


lightship.  A  coastguard  was  sending  up  flash 
signals  which  faded  into  a  pale  twinkle  as  the 
white  dawn  crept  over  the  water.  There  was  a 
good  deal  of  shipping  about,  mostly  fishing-boats 
and  small  coasting  craft,  with  one  large  steamer 
hull-down  to  the  west,  and  a  torpedo  destroyer 
between  us  and  the  land.  It  could  not  harm 
us,  and  yet  I  thought  it  as  well  that  there  should 
be  no  word  of  our  presence,  so  I  filled  my  tanks 
again  and  went  down  to  ten  feet.  I  was  pleased 
to  find  that  we  got  under  in  one  hundred  and 
fifty  seconds.  The  life  of  one's  boat  may  depend 
on  this  when  a  swift  craft  comes  suddenly  upon 
you. 

We  were  now  within  a  few  hours  of  our  cruis- 
ing ground,  so  I  determined  to  snatch  a  rest,  leav- 
ing Vornal  in  charge.  When  he  woke  me  at  ten 
o'clock  we  were  running  on  the  surface,  and  had 
reached  the  Essex  coast  off  the  Maplin  Sands. 
With  that  charming  frankness  which  is  one  of 
their  characteristics,  our  friends  of  England  had 
informed  us  by  their  Press  that  they  had  put  a 
cordon  of  torpedo-boats  across  the  Straits  of 
Dover  to  prevent  the  passage  of  submarines, 
which  is  about  as  sensible  as  to  lay  a  wooden 
[26] 


DANGER! 


plank  across  a  stream  to  keep  the  eels  from  pass- 
ing. I  knew  that  Stephan,  whose  station  lay  at 
the  western  end  of  the  Solent,  would  have  no  dif- 
ficulty in  reaching  it.  My  own  cruising  ground 
was  to  be  at  the  mouth  of  the  Thames,  and  here 
I  was  at  the  very  spot  with  my  tiny  Iota,  my 
eighteen  torpedoes,  my  quick-firing  gun,  and, 
above  all,  a  brain  that  knew  what  should  be  done 
and  how  to  do  it. 

When  I  resumed  my  place  in  the  conning- 
tower  I  saw  in  the  periscope  (for  we  had  dived) 
that  a  lightship  was  within  a  few  hundred  yards 
of  us  upon  the  port  bow.  Two  men  were  sitting 
on  her  bulwarks,  but  neither  of  them  cast  an 
eye  upon  the  little  rod  that  clove  the  water  so 
close  to  them.  It  was  an  ideal  day  for  submarine 
action,  with  enough  ripple  upon  the  surface  to 
make  us  difficult  to  detect,  and  yet  smooth  enough 
to  give  me  a  clear  view.  Each  of  my  three  peri- 
scopes had  an  angle  of  sixty  degrees  so  that  be- 
tween them  I  commanded  a  complete  semi-circle 
of  the  horizon.  Two  British  cruisers  were  steam- 
ing north  from  the  Thames  within  half  a  mile  of 
me.  I  could  easily  have  cut  them  off  and  at- 
tacked them  had  I  allowed  myself  to  be  diverted 

[27] 


DANGER ! 


from  my  great  plan.  Farther  south  a  destroyer 
was  passing  westwards  to  Sheerness.  A  dozen 
small  steamers  were  moving  about.  None  of 
these  were  worthy  of  my  notice.  Great  countries 
are  not  provisioned  by  small  steamers.  I  kept 
the  engines  running  at  the  lowest  pace  which 
would  hold  our  position  under  water,  and,  moving 
slowly  across  the  estuary,  I  waited  for  what  must 
assuredly  come. 

I  had  not  long  to  wait.  Shortly  after  one 
o'clock  I  perceived  in  the  periscope  a  cloud  of 
smoke  to  the  south.  Half  an  hour  later  a  large 
steamer  raised  her  hull,  making  for  the  mouth 
of  the  Thames.  I  ordered  Vornal  to  stand  by  the 
starboard  torpedo-tube,  having  the  other  also 
loaded  in  case  of  a  miss.  Then  I  advanced  slowly, 
for  though  the  steamer  was  going  very  swiftly  we 
could  easily  cut  her  off .  Presently  I  laid  the  lot  a 
in  a  position  near  which  she  must  pass,  and  would 
very  gladly  have  lain  to,  but  could  not  for  fear 
of  rising  to  the  surface.  I  therefore  steered  out 
in  the  direction  from  which  she  was  coming.  She 
was  a  very  large  ship,  fifteen  thousand  tons  at  the 
least,  painted  black  above  and  red  below,  with 
two  cream-coloured  funnels.  She  lay  so  low  in 
[28] 


DANGER! 


the  water  that  it  was  clear  she  had  a  full  cargo. 
At  her  bows  were  a  cluster  of  men,  some  of  them 
looking,  I  dare  say,  for  the  first  time  at  the 
mother  country.  How  little  could  they  have 
guessed  the  welcome  that  was  awaiting  them ! 

On  she  came  with  the  great  plumes  of  smoke 
floating  from  her  funnels,  and  two  white  waves 
foaming  from  her  cut-water.  She  was  within  a 
quarter  of  a  mile.  My  moment  had  arrived.  I 
signalled  full  speed  ahead  and  steered  straight  for 
her  course.  My  timing  was  exact.  At  a  hundred 
yards  I  gave  the  signal,  and  heard  the  clank  and 
swish  of  the  discharge.  At  the  same  instant  I 
put  the  helm  hard  down  and  flew  off  at  an  angle. 
There  was  a  terrific  lurch,  which  came  from  the 
distant  explosion.  For  a  moment  we  were  almost 
upon  our  side.  Then,  after  staggering  and 
trembling,  the  Iota  came  on  an  even  keel.  I 
stopped  the  engines,  brought  her  to  the  surface, 
and  opened  the  conning-tower,  while  all  my  ex- 
cited crew  came  crowding  to  the  hatch  to  know 
what  had  happened. 

The  ship  lay  within  two  hundred  yards  of  us, 
and  it  was  easy  to  see  that  she  had  her  death- 
blow. She  was  already  settling  down  by  the 

[29] 


DANGER ! 


stern.  There  was  a  sound  of  shouting  and  people 
were  running  wildly  about  her  decks.  Her  name 
was  visible,  the  Adela,  of  London,  bound,  as  we 
afterwards  learned,  from  New  Zealand  with 
frozen  mutton.  Strange  as  it  may  seem  to  you, 
the  notion  of  a  submarine  had  never  even  now 
occurred  to  her  people,  and  all  were  convinced 
that  they  had  struck  a  floating  mine.  The  star- 
board quarter  had  been  blown  in  by  the  explosion, 
and  the  ship  was  sinking  rapidly.  Their  dis- 
cipline was  admirable.  We  saw  boat  after  boat 
slip  down  crowded  with  people  as  swiftly  and 
quietly  as  if  it  were  part  of  their  daily  drill.  And 
suddenly,  as  one  of  the  boats  lay  off  waiting  for 
the  others,  they  caught  a  glimpse  for  the  first 
time  of  my  conning-tower  so  close  to  them.  I 
saw  them  shouting  and  pointing,  while  the  men 
in  the  other  boats  got  up  to  have  a  better  look  at 
us.  For  my  part,  I  cared  nothing,  for  I  took  it 
for  granted  that  they  already  knew  that  a  sub- 
marine had  destroyed  them.  One  of  them  clam- 
bered back  into  the  sinking  ship.  I  was  sure  that 
he  was  about  to  send  a  wireless  message  as  to  our 
presence.  It  mattered  nothing,  since,  in  any 
case,  it  must  be  known;  otherwise  I  could  easily 
[80] 


DANGER ! 


have  brought  him  down  with  a  rifle.  As  it  was,  I 
waved  my  hand  to  them,  and  they  waved  back  to 
me.  War  is  too  big  a  thing  to  leave  room  for 
personal  ill-feeling,  but  it  must  be  remorseless  all 
the  same. 

I  was  still  looking  at  the  sinking  Adela  when 
Vornal,  who  was  beside  me,  gave  a  sudden  cry 
of  warning  and  surprise,  gripping  me  by  the 
shoulder  and  turning  my  head.  There  behind  us, 
coming  up  the  fairway,  was  a  huge  black  vessel 
with  black  funnels,  flying  the  well-known  house- 
flag  of  the  P.  and  O.  Company.  She  was  not  a 
mile  distant,  and  I  calculated  in  an  instant  that 
even  if  she  had  seen  us  she  would  not  have  time 
to  turn  and  get  away  before  we  could  reach  her. 
We  went  straight  for  her,  therefore,  keeping 
awash  just  as  we  were.  They  saw  the  sinking 
vessel  in  front  of  them  and  that  little  dark  speck 
moving  over  the  surface,  and  they  suddenly  un- 
derstood their  danger.  I  saw  a  number  of  men 
rush  to  the  bows,  and  there  was  a  rattle  of  rifle- 
fire.  Two  bullets  were  flattened  upon  our  four- 
inch  armour.  You  might  as  well  try  to  stop  a 
charging  bull  with  paper  pellets  as  the  Iota  with 
rifle-fire.  I  had  learned  my  lesson  from  the 

[31] 


DANGER! 


Adda,  and  this  time  I  had  the  torpedo  dis- 
charged at  a  safer  distance — two  hundred  and 
fifty  yards.  We  caught  her  amidships  and  the 
explosion  was  tremendous,  but  we  were  well  out- 
side its  area.  She  sank  almost  instantaneously. 
I  am  sorry  for  her  people,  of  whom  I  hear  that 
more  than  two  hundred,  including  seventy  Las- 
cars and  forty  passengers,  were  drowned.  Yes, 
I  am  sorry  for  them.  But  when  I  think  of  the 
huge  floating  granary  that  went  to  the  bottom,  I 
rejoice  as  a  man  does  who  has  carried  out  that 
which  he  plans. 

It  was  a  bad  afternooK  that  for  the  P.  and  O. 
Company.  The  second  ship  which  we  destroyed 
was,  as  we  have  since  learned,  the  Moldavia,  of 
fifteen  thousand  tons,  one  of  their  finest  vessels; 
but  about  half-past  three  we  blew  up  the  Cusco, 
of  eight  thousand,  of  the  same  line,  also  from 
Eastern  ports,  and  laden  with  corn.  Why  she 
came  on  in  face  of  the  wireless  messages  which 
must  have  warned  her  of  danger,  I  cannot  im- 
agine. The  other  two  steamers  which  we  blew 
up  that  day,  the  Maid  of  Athens  (Robson  Line) 
and  the  Cormorant,  were  neither  of  them  pro- 
vided with  apparatus,  and  came  blindly  to  their 
[32] 


DANGER! 


destruction.  Both  were  small  boats  of  from  five 
thousand  to  seven  thousand  tons.  In  the  case  of 
the  second,  I  had  to  rise  to  the  surface  and  fire 
six  twelve-pound  shells  under  her  wat^r-line  be- 
fore she  would  sink.  In  each  case  the  crew  took 
to  the  boats,  and  so  far  as  I  know  no  casualties  oc- 
curred. 

After  that  no  more  steamers  came  along,  nor 
did  I  expect  them.  Warnings  must  by  this  time 
have  been  flying  in  all  directions.  But  we  had 
no  reason  to  be  dissatisfied  with  our  first  day. 
Between  the  Maplin  Sands  and  the  Nore  we  had 
sunk  five  ships  of  a  total  tonnage  of  about  fifty 
thousand  tons.  Already  the  London  markets 
would  begin  to  feel  the  pinch.  And  Lloyd's — 
poor  old  Lloyd's — what  a  demented  state  it 
would  be  in!  I  could  imagine  the  London  eve- 
ning papers  and  the  howling  in  Fleet  Street.  We 
saw  the  result  of  our  actions,  for  it  was  quite 
laughable  to  see  the  torpedo-boats  buzzing  like 
angry  wasps  out  of  Sheerness  in  the  evening. 
They  were  darting  in  every  direction  across  the 
estuary,  and  the  aeroplanes  and  hydroplanes 
were  like  flights  of  crows,  black  dots  against  the 
red  western  sky.  They  quartered  the  whole 

[33] 


DANGER! 


river  mouth,  until  they  discovered  us  at  last. 
Some  sharp-sighted  fellow  with  a  telescope  on 
board  of  a  destroyer  got  a  sight  of  our  periscope, 
and  came  for  us  full  speed.  No  doubt  he  would 
very  gladly  have  rammed  us,  even  if  it  had  meant 
his  own  destruction,  but  that  was  not  part  of  our 
programme  at  all.  I  sank  her  and  ran  her  east- 
south-east  with  an  occasional  rise.  Finally  we 
brought  her  to,  not  very  far  from  the  Kentish 
coast,  and  the  search-lights  of  our  pursuers  were 
far  on  the  western  skyline.  There  we  lay  quietly 
all  night,  for  a  submarine  at  night  is  nothing 
more  than  a  very  third-rate  surface  torpedo-boat. 
Besides,  we  were  all  weary  and  needed  rest.  Do 
not  forget,  you  captains  of  men,  when  you  grease 
and  trim  your  pumps  and  compressors  and  ro- 
tators, that  the  human  machine  needs  some  tend- 
ing also. 

I  had  put  up  the  wireless  mast  above  the  con- 
ning-tower,  and  had  no  difficulty  in  calling  up 
Captain  Stephan.  He  was  lying,  he  said,  off 
Ventnor  and  had  been  unable  to  reach  his  station, 
on  account  of  engine  trouble,  which  he  had  now 
set  right.  Next  morning  he  proposed  to  block 
the  Southampton  approach.  He  had  destroyed 
[34] 


DANGER ! 


one  large  Indian  boat  on  his  way  down  Channel. 
We  exchanged  good  wishes.  Like  myself,  he 
needed  rest.  I  was  up  at  four  in  the  morning, 
however,  and  called  all  hands  to  overhaul  the 
boat.  She  was  somewhat  up  by  the  head,  owing 
to  the  forward  torpedoes  having  been  used,  so 
we  trimmed  her  by  opening  the  forward  compen- 
sating tank,  admitting  as  much  water  as  the 
torpedoes  had  weighed.  We  also  overhauled  the 
starboard  air-compressor  and  one  of  the  periscope 
motors  which  had  been  jarred  by  the  shock  of 
the  first  explosion.  We  had  hardly  got  ourselves 
shipshape  when  the  morning  dawned. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  a  good  many  ships  which 
had  taken  refuge  in  the  French  ports  at  the  first 
alarm  had  run  across  and  got  safely  up  the  river 
in  the  night.  Of  course  I  could  have  attacked 
them,  but  I  do  not  care  to  take  risks — and  there 
are  always  risks  for  a  submarine  at  night.  But 
one  had  miscalculated  his  time,  and  there  she 
was,  just  abreast  of  Warden  Point,  when  the 
daylight  disclosed  her  to  us.  In  an  instant  we 
were  after  her.  It  was  a  near  thing,  for  she  was 
a  flier,  and  could  do  two  miles  to  our  one;  but 
we  just  reached  her  as  she  went  swashing  by. 

[35] 


DANGER ! 


She  saw  us  at  the  last  moment,  for  I  attacked 
her  awash,  since  otherwise  we  could  not  have 
had  the  pace  to  reach  her.  She  swung  away 
and  the  first  torpedo  missed,  but  the  second  took 
her  full  under  the  counter.  Heavens,  what  a 
smash!  The  whole  stern  seemed  to  go  aloft.  I 
drew  off  and  watched  her  sink.  She  went  down 
in  seven  minutes,  leaving  her  masts  and  fun- 
nels over  the  water  and  a  cluster  of  her  people 
holding  on  to  them.  She  was  the  Virginia,  of  the 
Bibby  Line — twelve  thousand  tons — and  laden, 
like  the  others,  with  foodstuffs  from  the  East. 
The  whole  surface  of  the  sea  was  covered  with 
the  floating  grain.  "John  Bull  will  have  to 
take  up  a  hole  or  two  of  his  belt  if  this  goes  on," 
said  Vornal,  as  we  watched  the  scene. 

And  it  was  at  that  moment  that  the  very  worst 
danger  occurred  that  could  befall  us.  I  tremble 
now  when  I  think  how  our  glorious  voyage  might 
have  been  nipped  in  the  bud.  I  had  freed  the 
hatch  of  my  tower,  and  was  looking  at  the  boats 
of  the  Virginia  with  Vornal  near  me,  when  there 
was  a  swish  and  a  terrific  splash  in  the  water  be- 
side us,  which  covered  us  both  with  spray.  We 
looked  up,  and  you  can  imagine  our  feelings 
[36] 


DANGER ! 


when  we  saw  an  aeroplane  hovering  a  few  hun- 
dred feet  above  us  like  a  hawk.  With  its  silencer, 
it  was  perfectly  noiseless,  and  had  its  bomb  not 
fallen  into  the  sea  we  should  never  have  known 
what  had  destroyed  us.  She  was  circling  round 
in  the  hope  of  dropping  a  second  one,  but  we 
shoved  on  all  speed  ahead,  crammed  down  the 
rudders,  and  vanished  into  the  side  of  a  roller. 
I  kept  the  deflection  indicator  falling  until  I  had 
put  fifty  good  feet  of  water  between  the  aero- 
plane and  ourselves,  for  I  knew  well  how  deeply 
they  can  see  under  the  surface.  However,  we 
soon  threw  her  off  our  track,  and  when  we 
came  to  the  surface  near  Margate  there  was  no 
sign  of  her,  unless  she  was  one  of  several  which 
we  saw  hovering  over  Herne  Bay. 

There  was  not  a  ship  in  the  offing  save  a  few 
small  coasters  and  little  thousand-ton  steamers, 
which  were  beneath  my  notice.  For  several  hours 
I  lay  submerged  with  a  blank  periscope.  Then 
I  had  an  inspiration.  Orders  had  been  marconied 
to  every  foodship  to  lie  in  French  waters  and 
dash  across  after  dark.  I  was  as  sure  of  it  as  if 
they  had  been  recorded  in  our  own  receiver. 
Well,  if  they  were  there,  that  was  where  I  should 

[37] 


DANGER ! 


be  also.  I  blew  out  the  tanks  and  rose,  for  there 
was  no  sign  of  any  warship  near.  They  had  some 
good  system  of  signalling  from  the  shore,  how- 
ever, for  I  had  not  got  to  the  North  Foreland 
before  three  destroyers  came  foaming  after  me, 
all  converging  from  different  directions.  They 
had  about  as  good  a  chance  of  catching  me  as 
three  spaniels  would  have  of  overtaking  a  por- 
poise. Out  of  pure  bravado — I  know  it  was  very 
wrong — I  waited  until  they  were  actually  within 
gunshot.  Then  I  sank  and  we  saw  each  other  no 
more. 

It  is,  as  I  have  said,  a  shallow  sandy  coast,  and 
submarine  navigation  is  very  difficult.  The  worst 
mishap  that  can  befall  a  boat  is  to  bury  its  nose 
in  the  side  of  a  sand-drift  and  be  held  there.  Such 
an  accident  might  have  been  the  end  of  our  boat, 
though  with  our  Fleuss  cylinders  and  electric 
lamps  we  should  have  found  no  difficulty  in  get- 
ting out  at  the  air-lock  and  in  walking  ashore 
across  the  bed  of  the  ocean.  As  it  was,  however, 
I  was  able,  thanks  to  our  excellent  charts,  to  keep 
the  channel  and  so  to  gain  the  open  straits.  There 
we  rose  about  midday,  but,  observing  a  hydro- 
plane at  no  great  distance,  we  sank  again  for 
[38] 


DANGER ! 


half  an  hour.  When  we  came  up  for  the  second 
time,  all  was  peaceful  around  us,  and  the  Eng- 
lish coast  was  lining  the  whole  western  horizon. 
We  kept  oustide  the  Goodwins  and  straight  down 
Channel  until  we  saw  a  line  of  black  dots  in  front 
of  us,  which  I  knew  to  be  the  Dover-Calais  tor- 
pedo-boat cordon.  When  two  miles  distant  we 
dived  and  came  up  again  seven  miles  to  the  south- 
west, without  one  of  them  dreaming  that  we  had 
been  within  thirty  feet  of  their  keels. 

When  we  rose,  a  large  steamer  flying  the  Ger- 
man flag  was  within  half  a  mile  of  us.  It  was 
the  North  German  Lloyd  Altona,  from  New 
York  to  Bremen.  I  raised  our  whole  hull  and 
dipped  our  flag  to  her.  It  was  amusing  to  see 
the  amazement  of  her  people  at  what  they  must 
have  regarded  as  our  unparalleled  impudence  in 
those  English-swept  waters.  They  cheered  us 
heartily,  and  the  tricolour  flag  was  dipped  in 
greeting  as  they  went  roaring  past  us.  Then  I 
stood  in  to  the  French  coast. 

It  was  exactly  as  I  had  expected.  There  were 
three  great  British  steamers  lying  at  anchor  in 
Boulogne  outer  harbour.  They  were  the  Caesar, 
the  King  of  the  East,  and  the  Pathfinder,  none 

[39] 


DANGER ! 


less  than  ten  thousand  tons.  I  suppose  they 
thought  they  were  safe  in  French  waters,  but 
what  did  I  care  about  three-mile  limits  ajid  inter- 
national law!  The  view  of  my  Government  was 
that  England  was  blockaded,  food  contraband, 
and  vessels  carrying  it  to  be  destroyed.  The 
lawyers  could  argue  about  it  afterwards.  My 
business  was  to  starve  the  enemy  any  way  I  could. 
Within  an  hour  the  three  ships  were  under  the 
waves  and  the  Iota  was  steaming  down  the  Pi- 
cardy  coast,  looking  for  fresh  victims.  The  Chan- 
nel was  covered  with  English  torpedo-boats  buz- 
zing and  whirling  like  a  cloud  of  midges.  How 
they  thought  they  could  hurt  me  I  cannot  im- 
agine, unless  by  accident  I  were  to  come  up  un- 
derneath one  of  them.  More  dangerous  were 
the  aeroplanes  which  circled  here  and  there. 

The  water  being  calm,  I  had  several  times  to 
descend  as  deep  as  a  hundred  feet  before  I  was 
sure  that  I  was  out  of  their  sight.  After  I  had 
blown  up  the  three  ships  at  Boulogne  I  saw  two 
aeroplanes  flying  down  Channel,  and  I  knew 
that  they  would  head  off  any  vessels  which  were 
coming  up.  There  was  one  very  large  white 
steamer  lying  off  Havre,  but  she  steamed  west 
[40] 


DANGER ! 


before  I  could  reach  her.  I  dare  say  Stephan 
or  one  of  the  others  would  get  her  before  long. 
But  those  infernal  aeroplanes  spoiled  our  sport 
for  that  day.  Not  another  steamer  did  I  see, 
save  the  never-ending  torpedo-boats.  I  consoled 
myself  with  the  reflection,  however,  that  no  food 
was  passing  me  on  its  way  to  London.  That 
was  what  I  was  there  for,  after  all.  If  I  could 
do  it  without  spending  my  torpedoes,  all  the  bet- 
ter. Up  to  date  I  had  fired  ten  of  them  and  sunk 
nine  steamers,  so  I  had  not  wasted  my  weapons. 
That  night  I  came  back  to  the  Kent  coast  and 
lay  upon  the  bottom  in  shallow  water  near 
Dungeness. 

We  were  all  trimmed  and  ready  at  the  first 
break  of  day,  for  I  expected  to  catch  some  ships 
which  had  tried  to  make  the  Thames  in  the 
darkness  and  had  miscalculated  their  time.  Sure 
enough,  there  was  a  great  steamer  coming  up 
Channel  and  flying  the  American  flag.  It  was 
all  the  same  to  me  what  flag  she  flew  so  long  as 
she  was  engaged  in  conveying  contraband  of  war 
to  the  British  Isles.  There  were  no  torpedo- 
boats  about  at  the  moment,  so  I  ran  out  on  the 
surface  and  fired  a  shot  across  her  bows.  She 

[41] 


DANGER ! 


seemed  inclined  to  go  on  so  I  put  a  second  one 
just  above  her  water-line  on  her  port  bow.  She 
stopped  then  and  a  very  angry  man  began  to 
gesticulate  from  the  bridge.  I  ran  the  Iota 
almost  alongside. 

"Are  you  the  captain?"  I  asked. 

"What  the "  I  won't  attempt  to  repro- 
duce his  language. 

"You  have  food-stuffs  on  board?"    I  said. 

"It's  an  American  ship,  you  blind  beetle!" 
he  cried.  "Can't  you  see  the  flag?  It's  the  Ver- 
mondia,  of  Boston." 

"Sorry,  Captain,"  I  answered.  "I  have  really 
no  time  for  words.  Those  shots  of  mine  will 
bring  the  torpedo-boats,  and  I  dare  say  at  this 
very  moment  your  wireless  is  making  trouble  for 
me.  Get  your  people  into  the  boats." 

I  had  to  show  him  I  was  not  bluffing,  so  I 
drew  off  and  began  putting  shells  into  him  just 
on  the  water-line.  When  I  had  knocked  six 
holes  in  it  he  was  very  busy  on  his  boats.  I  fired 
twenty  shots  altogether,  and  no  torpedo  was 
needed,  for  she  was  lying  over  with  a  terrible 
list  to  port,  and  presently  came  right  on  to  her 
side.  There  she  lay  for  two  or  three  minutes 
[42] 


DANGEK ! 


before  she  foundered.  There  were  eight  boats 
crammed  with  people  lying  round  her  when  she 
went  down.  I  believe  everybody  was  saved,  but 
I  could  not  wait  to  inquire.  From  all  quarters 
the  poor  old  panting,  useless  war-vessels  were 
hurrying.  I  filled  my  tanks,  ran  her  bows  under, 
and  came  up  fifteen  miles  to  the  south.  Of 
course,  I  knew  there  would  be  a  big  row  after- 
wards— as  there  was — but  that  did  not  help  the 
starving  crowds  round  the  London  bakers,  who 
only  saved  their  skins,  poor  devils,  by  explaining 
to  the  mob  that  they  had  nothing  to  bake. 

By  this  time  I  was  becoming  rather  anxious, 
as  you  can  imagine,  to  know  what  was  going 
on  in  the  world  and  what  England  was  thinking 
about  it  all.  I  ran  alongside  a  fishing-boat,  there- 
fore, and  ordered  them  to  give  up  their  papers. 
Unfortunately  they  had  none,  except  a  rag  of  an 
evening  paper,  which  was  full  of  nothing  but  bet- 
ting news.  In  a  second  attempt  I  came  alongside 
a  small  yachting  party  from  Eastbourne,  who 
were  frightened  to  death  at  our  sudden  appear- 
ance out  of  the  depths.  From  them  we  were 
lucky  enough  to  get  the  London  Courier  of  that 
very  morning. 

[43] 


DANGER ! 


It  was  interesting  reading — so  interesting  that 
I  had  to  announce  it  all  to  the  crew.  Of  course, 
you  know  the  British  style  of  headline,  which 
gives  you  all  the  news  at  a  glance.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  the  whole  paper  was  headlines,  it  was  in 
such  a  state  of  excitement.  Hardly  a  word  about 
me  and  my  flotilla.  We  were  on  the  second  page. 
The  first  one  began  something  like  this : — 

CAPTURE  OF  BLANKENBERG! 


DESTEUCTION  OF  ENEMY  S   FLEET 


BURNING   OF   TOWN 


TRAWLERS    DESTROY    MINE    FIELD 
LOSS    OF    TWO    BATTLESHIPS 


IS    IT    THE    END? 

Of  course,  what  I  had  foreseen  had  occurred. 
The  town  was  actually  occupied  by  the  British. 
And  they  thought  it  was  the  end!  We  would 
see  about  that. 

On  the  round-the-corner  page,  at  the  back  of 
the  glorious  resonant  leaders,  there  was  a  little 
column  which  read  like  this : — 
[44] 


DANGER ! 


HOSTILE  SUBMARINES 

Several  of  the  enemy's  submarines  are  at  sea, 
and  have  inflicted  some  appreciable  damage  upon 
our  merchant  ships.  The  danger-spots  upon 
Monday  and  the  greater  part  of  Tuesday  appear 
to  have  been  the  month  of  the  Thames  and  the 
western  entrance  to  the  Solent.  On  Monday, 
between  the  Nore  and  Margate,  there  were  sunk 
five  large  steamers,  the  Adda,  Moldavia,  Cusco, 
Cormorant,  and  Maid  of  Athens,  particulars  of 
which  will  be  found  below.  Near  Ventnor,  on 
the  same  day,  was  sunk  the  Verulam,  from  Bom- 
bay. On  Tuesday  the  Virginia,  Ccesar,  King  of 
the  East,  and  Pathfinder  were  destroyed  between 
the  foreland  and  Boulogne.  The  latter  three 
were  actually  lying  in  French  waters,  and  the 
most  energetic  representations  have  been  made 
by  the  Government  of  the  Republic.  On  the 
same  day  The  Queen  of  Sheba,  Orontes,  Diana, 
and  Atalanta  were  destroyed  near  the  Needles. 
Wireless  messages  have  stopped  all  ingoing 
cargo-ships  from  coming  up  Channel,  but  un- 
fortunately there  is  evidence  that  at  least  two 
of  the  enemy's  submarines  are  in  the  West.  Four 
cattle-ships  from  Dublin  to  Liverpool  were  sunk 
yesterday  evening,  while  three  Bristol-bound 
steamers,  The  Hilda,  Mercury,  and  Maria  Toser, 

[45] 


DANGER ! 


were  blown  up  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Lundy 
Island.  Commerce  has,  so  far  as  possible,  been 
diverted  into  safer  channels,  but  in  the  meantime, 
however  vexatious  these  incidents  may  be,  and 
however  grievous  the  loss  both  to  the  owners  and 
to  Lloyd's,  we  may  console  ourselves  by  the  re- 
flection that  since  a  submarine  cannot  keep  the 
sea  for  more  than  ten  days  without  refitting,  and 
since  the  base  has  been  captured,  there  must  come 
a  speedy  term  to  these  depredations." 

So  much  for  the  Courier's  account  of  our  pro- 
ceedings. Another  small  paragraph  was,  how- 
ever, more  eloquent: — 

"The  price  of  wheat,  which  stood  at  thirty- 
five  shillings  a  week  before  the  declaration  of  war, 
was  quoted  yesterday  on  the  Baltic  at  fifty-two. 
Maize  has  gone  from  twenty-one  to  thirty-seven, 
barley  from  nineteen  to  thirty-five,  sugar 
(foreign  granulated)  from  eleven  shillings  and 
threepence  to  nineteen  shillings  and  sixpence." 

"Good,  my  lads!"  saioj,  I,  when  I  read  it  to 

the  crew.     "I  can  assure  you  that  those  few 

lines  will  prove  to  mean  more  than  the  whole 

page  about  the  Fall  of  Blankenberg.    Now  let 

[46] 


DANGER ! 


us  get  down  Channel  and  send  those  prices  up  a 
little  higher." 

All  traffic  had  stopped  for  London — not  so 
bad  for  the  little  Iota — and  we  did  not  see  a 
steamer  that  was  worth  a  torpedo  between 
Dungeness  and  the  Isle  of  Wight.  There  I 
called  Stephan  up  by  wireless,  and  by  seven 
o'clock  we  were  actually  lying  side  by  side  in  a 
smooth  rolling  sea — Hengistbury  Head  bearing 
N.N.W.  and  about  five  miles  distant.  The  two 
crews  clustered  on  the  whale-backs  and  shouted 
their  joy  at  seeing  friendly  faces  once  more. 
Stephan  had  done  extraordinarily  well.  I  had, 
of  course,  read  in  the  London  paper  of  his  four 
ships  on  Tuesday,  but  he  had  sunk  no  fewer  than 
seven  since,  for  many  of  those  which  should  have 
come  to  the  Thames  had  tried  to  make  Southamp- 
ton. Of  the  seven,  one  was  of  twenty  thousand 
tons,  a  grain-ship  from  America,  a  second  was  a 
grain-ship  from  the  Black  Sea,  and  two  others 
were  great  liners  from  South  Africa.  I  con- 
gratulated Stephan  with  all  my  heart  upon  his 
splendid  achievement.  Then  as  we  had  been  seen 
by  a  destroyer  which  was  approaching  at  a  great 
pace,  we  both  dived,  coming  up  again  off  the 

[47] 


DANGER! 


Needles,  where  we  spent  the  night  in  company. 
We  could  not  visit  each  other,  since  we  had  no 
boat,  but  we  lay  so  nearly  alongside  that  we  were 
able,  Stephan  and  I,  to  talk  from  hatch  to  hatch 
and  so  make  our  plans. 

He  had  shot  away  more  than  half  his  torpe- 
does, and  so  had  I,  and  yet  we  were  very  averse 
from  returning  to  our  base  so  long  as  our  oil 
held  out.  I  told  him  of  my  experience  with  the 
Boston  steamer,  and  we  mutually  agreed  to  sink 
the  ships  by  gun-fire  in  future  so  far  as  possible. 
I  remember  old  Horli  saying,  "What  use  is  a 
gun  abroad  a  submarine?"  We  were  about  to 
show.  I  read  the  English  paper  to  Stephan  by 
the  ligkt  of  my  eleetrie  torch,  and  we  both  agreed 
that  few  ships  would  now  come  up  the  Channel. 
That  sentence  about  diverting  commerce  to  safer 
routes  could  only  mean  that  the  ships  would  go 
round  the  North  of  Ireland  and  unload  at  Glas- 
gow. Oh,  for  two  more  ships  to  stop  that  entrance ! 
Heavens,  what  would  England  have  done  against 
a  foe  with  thirty  or  forty  submarines,  since  we 
only  needed  six  instead  of  four  to  complete  her 
destruction!  After  much  talk  we  decided  that 
the  best  plan  would  be  that  I  should  despatch 
[48] 


DANGER! 


a  cipher  telegram  next  morning  from  a  French 
port  to  tell  them  to  send  the  four  second-rate 
boats  to  cruise  off  the  North  of  Ireland  and  West 
of  Scotland.  Then  when  I  had  done  this  I  should 
move  down  Channel  with  Stephan  and  operate  at 
the  mouth,  while  the  other  two  boats  could  work 
in  the  Irish  Sea.  Having  made  these  plans,  I  set 
off  across  the  Channel  in  the  early  morning, 
reaching  the  small  village  of  Etretat,  in  Brittany. 
There  I  got  off  my  telegram  and  then  laid  my 
course  for  Falmouth,  passing  under  the  keels  of 
two  British  cruisers  which  were  making  eagerly 
for  Etretat,  having  heard  by  wireless  that  we 
were  there. 

Half-way  down  Channel  we  had  trouble  with 
a  short  circuit  in  our  electric  engines,  and  were 
compelled  to  run  on  the  surface  for  several  hours 
while  we  replaced  one  of  the  cam-shafts  and  re- 
newed some  washers.  It  was  a  ticklish  time,  for 
had  a  torpedo-boat  come  upon  us  we  could  not 
have  dived.  The  perfect  submarine  of  the  future 
will  surely  have  some  alternative  engines  for 
such  an  emergency.  However  by  the  skill  of 
Engineer  Morro,  we  got  things  going  once  more. 
All  the  time  we  lay  there  I  saw  a  hydroplane 

'[49] 


DANGER ! 


floating  between  us  and  the  British  coast.  I  can 
understand  how  a  mouse  feels  when  it  is  in  a  tuft 
of  grass  and  sees  a  hawk  high  up  in  the  heavens. 
However,  all  went  well;  the  mouse  became  a 
water-rat,  it  wagged  its  tail  in  derision  at  the 
poor  blind  old  hawk,  and  it  dived  down  into  a  nice 
safe  green,  quiet  world  where  there  was  nothing 
to  injure  it. 

It  was  on  the  Wednesday  night  that  the  Iota 
crossed  to  Etretat.  It  was  Friday  afternoon  be- 
fore we  had  reached  our  new  cruising  ground. 
Only  one  large  steamer  did  I  see  upon  our  way. 
The  terror  we  had  caused  had  cleared  the  Chan- 
nel. This  big  boat  had  a  clever  captain  on  board. 
His  tactics  were  excellent  and  took  him  in  safety 
to  the  Thames.  He  came  zigzagging  up  Channel 
at  twenty-five  knots,  shooting  off  from  his  course 
at  all  sorts  of  unexpected  angles.  With  our  slow 
pace  we  could  not  catch  him,  nor  could  we  calcu- 
late his  line  so  as  to  cut  him  off.  Of  course,  he 
had  never  seen  us,  but  he  judged,  and  judged 
rightly,  that  wherever  we  were  those  were  the 
tactics  by  which  he  had  the  best  chance  of  getting 
past.  He  deserved  his  success. 

But,  of  course,  it  is  only  in  a  wide  Channel 
[50] 


DANGER! 


that  such  things  can  be  done.  Had  I  met  him 
in  the  mouth  of  the  Thames  there  would  have 
been  a  different  story  to  tell.  As  I  approached 
Falmouth  I  destroyed  a  three-thousand-ton  boat 
from  Cork,  laden  with  butter  and  cheese.  It  was 
my  only  success  for  three  days. 

That  night  (Friday,  April  16th)  I  called  up 
Stephan,  but  received  no  reply.  As  I  was  within 
a  few  miles  of  our  rendezvous,  and  as  he  would 
not  be  cruising  after  dark,  I  was  puzzled  to  ac- 
count for  his  silence.  I  could  only  imagine  that 
his  wireless  was  deranged.  But,  alas!  I  was 
soon  to  find  the  true  reason  from  a  copy  of  the 
Western  Morning  News,  which  I  obtained  from 
a  Brixham  trawler.  The  Kappa,  with  her  gallant 
commander  and  crew,  were  at  the  bottom  of  the 
English  Channel. 

It  appeared  from  this  account  that  after  I  had 
parted  from  him  he  had  met  and  sunk  no  fewer 
than  five  vessels.  I  gathered  these  to  be  his  work, 
since  all  of  them  were  by  gun  fire,  and  all  were 
on  the  south  coast  of  Dorset  or  Devon.  How  he 
met  his  fate  was  stated  in  a  short  telegram  which 
was  headed  "Sinking  of  a  Hostile  Submarine." 
It  was  marked  "Falmouth,"  and  ran  thus: — 

[51] 


DANGER ! 


The  P.  and  O.  mail  steamer  Macedonia  came 
into  this  port  last  night  with  five  shell  holes 
between  wind  and  water.  She  reports  having 
been  attacked  by  a  hostile  submarine  ten  miles  to 
the  south-east  of  the  Lizard.  Instead  of  using 
her  torpedoes,  the  submarine  for  some  reason 
approached  from  the  surface  and  fired  five  shots 
from  a  semi-automatic  twelve-pounder  gun.  She 
was  evidently  under  the  impression  that  the 
Macedonia  was  unarmed.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
being  warned  of  the  presence  of  submarines  in  the 
Channel,  the  Macedonia  had  mounted  her  arm- 
ament as  an  auxiliary  cruiser.  She  opened  fire 
with  two  quick-firers  and  blew  away  the  conning- 
tower  of  the  submarine.  It  is  probable  that  the 
shells  went  right  through  her,  as  she  sank  at  once 
with  her  hatches  open.  The  Macedonia  was  only 
kept  afloat  by  her  pumps. 

Such  was  the  end  of  the  Kappa,  and  my  gallant 
friend,  Commander  Stephan.  His  best  epitaph 
was  in  a  corner  of  the  same  paper,  and  was 
headed  "Mark  Lane."  It  ran: — 

"Wheat  (average)  66,  maize  48,  barley  50." 
Well,  if  Stephan  was  gone  there  was  the  more 
need  for  me  to  show  energy.     My  plans  were 
quickly  taken,  but  they  were  comprehensive.    All 
[52] 


DANGER! 


that  day  (Saturday)  I  passed  down  the  Cornish 
coast  and  round  Land's  End,  getting  two  steam- 
ers on  the  way.  I  had  learned  from  Stephan's 
fate  that  it  was  better  to  torpedo  the  large 
craft,  but  I  was  aware  that  the  auxiliary  cruisers 
of  the  British  Government  were  all  over  ten  thou- 
sand tons,  so  that  for  all  ships  under  that  size 
it  was  safe  to  use  my  gun.  Both  these  craft,  the 
Yelland  and  the  Playboy — the  latter  an  Ameri- 
can ship — were  perfectly  harmless,  so  I  came  up 
within  a  hundred  yards  of  them  and  speedily  sank 
them,  after  allowing  their  people  to  get  into  boats. 
Some  other  steamers  lay  farther  out,  but  I  was 
so  eager  to  make  my  new  arrangements  that  I  did 
not  go  out  of  my  course  to  molest  them.  Just  be- 
fore sunset,  however,  so  magnificent  a  prey  came 
within  my  radius  of  action  that  I  could  not  pos- 
sibly refuse  her.  No  sailor  could  fail  to  recognise 
that  glorious  monarch  of  the  sea,  with  her  four 
cream  funnels  tipped  with  black,  her  huge  black 
sides,  her  red  bilges,  and  her  high  white  top- 
hamper,  roaring  up  Channel  at  twenty-three 
knots,  and  carrying  her  forty-five  thousand  tons 
as  lightly  as  if  she  were  a  five-ton  motor-boat.  It 
was  the  queenly  Olympic,  of  the  White  Star — 

[53] 


DANGER! 


once  the  largest  and  still  the  comeliest  of  liners. 
What  a  picture  she  made,  with  the  blue  Cornish 
sea  creaming  round  her  giant  fore-foot,  and  the 
pink  western  sky  with  one  evening  star  forming 
the  background  to  her  noble  lines. 

She  was  about  five  miles  off  when  we  dived 
to  cut  her  off.  My  calculation  was  exact.  As  we 
came  abreast  we  loosed  our  torpedo  and  struck 
her  fair.  We  swirled  round  with  the  concussion 
of  the  water.  I  saw  her  in  my  periscope  list  over 
on  her  side,  and  I  knew  that  she  had  her  death- 
blow. She  settled  down  slowly,  and  there  was 
plenty  of  time  to  save  her  people.  The  sea  was 
dotted  with  her  boats.  When  I  got  about  three 
miles  off  I  rose  to  the  surface,  and  the  whole 
crew  clustered  up  to  see  the  wonderful  sight.  She 
dived  bows  foremost,  and  there  was  a  terrific  ex- 
plosion, which  sent  one  of  the  funnels  into  the 
air.  I  suppose  we  should  have  cheered — some- 
how, none  of  us  felt  like  cheering.  We  were  all 
keen  sailors,  and  it  went  to  our  hearts  to  see  such 
a  ship  go  down  like  a  broken  egg-shell.  I  gave 
a  gruff  order,  and  all  were  at  their  posts  again 
while  we  headed  north-west.  Once  round  the 
Land's  End  I  called  up  my  two  consorts,  and 
[54] 


DANGER ! 


we  met  next  day  at  Hartland  Point,  the  south 
end  of  Bideford  Bay.  For  the  moment  the  Chan- 
nel was  clear,  but  the  English  could  not  know  it, 
and  I  reckoned  that  the  loss  of  the  Olympic  would 
stop  all  ships  for  a  day  or  two  at  least. 

Having  assembled  the  Delta  and  Epsilon,  one 
on  each  side  of  me,  I  received  the  report  from 
Miriam  and  Var,  the  respective  commanders. 
Each  had  expended  twelve  torpedoes,  and  be- 
tween them  they  had  sunk  twenty-two  steamers. 
One  man  had  been  killed  by  the  machinery  on 
board  of  the  Delta,  and  two  had  been  burned 
by  the  ignition  of  some  oil  on  the  Epsilon.  I 
took  these  injured  men  on  board,  and  I  gave 
each  of  the  boats  one  of  my  crew.  I  also  divided 
my  spare  oil,  my  provisions,  and  my  torpedoes 
among  them,  though  we  had  the  greatest  possible 
difficulty  in  those  crank  vessels  in  transferring 
them  from  one  to  the  other.  However,  by  ten 
o'clock  it  was  done,  and  the  two  vessels  were  in 
condition  to  keep  the  sea  for  another  ten  days. 
For  my  part,  with  only  two  torpedoes  left,  I 
headed  north  up  the  Irish  Sea.  One  of  my  tor- 
pedoes I  expended  that  evening  upon  a  cattle- 
ship  making  for  Milford  Haven.  Late  at  night, 

[55] 


DANGER ! 


being  abreast  of  Holyhead,  I  called  upon  my 
four  northern  boats,  but  without  reply.  Their 
Marconi  range  is  very  limited.  About  three  in 
the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  I  had  a  feeble 
answer.  It  was  a  great  relief  to  me  to  find  that 
my  telegraphic  instructions  had  reached  them  and 
that  they  were  on  their  station.  Before  evening  we 
all  assembled  in  the  lee  of  Sanda  Island,  in  the 
Mull  of  Kintyre.  I  felt  an  admiral  indeed  when 
I  saw  my  five  whalebacks  all  in  a  row.  Panza's 
report  was  excellent.  They  had  come  round  by 
the  Pentland  Firth  and  reached  their  cruising 
ground  on  the  fourth  day.  Already  they  had  de- 
stroyed twenty  vessels  without  any  mishap.  I 
ordered  the  Beta  to  divide  her  oil  and  torpedoes 
among  the  other  three,  so  that  they  were  in  good 
condition  to  continue  their  cruise.  Then  the  Beta 
and  I  headed  for  home,  reaching  our  base  upon 
Sunday,  April  25th.  Off  Cape  Wrath  I  picked 
up  a  paper  from  a  small  schooner. 

"Wheat,  84;  Maize,  60;  Barley,  62."  What 
were  battles  and  bombardments  compared  to 
that! 

The  whole  coast  of  Norland  was  closely  block- 
aded by  cordon  within  cordon,  and  every  port, 
[56] 


DANGER ! 


even  the  smallest,  held  by  the  British.  But  why 
should  they  suspect  my  modest  confectioner's 
villa  more  than  any  other  of  the  ten  thousand 
houses  that  face  the  sea?  I  was  glad  when  I 
picked  up  its  homely  white  front  in  my  periscope. 
That  night  I  landed  and  found  my  stores  intact. 
Before  morning  the  Beta  reported  itself,  for  we 
had  the  windows  lit  as  a  guide. 

It  is  not  for  me  to  recount  the  messages  which 
I  found  waiting  for  me  at  my  humble  headquar- 
ters. They  shall  ever  remain  as  the  patents  of 
nobility  of  my  family.  Among  others  was  that 
never-to-be-forgotten  salutation  from  my  King. 
He  desired  me  to  present  myself  at  Hauptville, 
but  for  once  I  took  it  upon  myself  to  disobey  his 
commands.  It  took  me  two  days — or  rather  two 
nights,  for  we  sank  ourselves  during  the  daylight 
hours — to  get  all  our  stores  on  board,  but  my 
presence  was  needful  every  minute  of  the  time. 
On  the  third  morning,  at  four  o'clock,  the  Beta 
and  my  own  little  flagship  were  at  sea  once  more, 
bound  for  our  original  station  off  the  mouth  of 
the  Thames. 

I  had  no  time  to  read  our  papers  whilst  I  was 
refitting,  but  I  gathered  the  news  after  we  got 

[5T] 


DANGER! 


under  way.  The  British  occupied  all  our  ports, 
but  otherwise  we  had  not  suffered  at  all,  since 
we  have  excellent  railway  communications  with 
Europe.  Prices  had  altered  little,  and  our  in- 
dustries continued  as  before.  There  was  talk 
of  a  British  invasion,  but  this  I  knew  to  be  ab- 
solute nonsense,  for  the  British  must  have  learned 
by  this  time  that  it  would  be  sheer  murder  to  send 
transports  full  of  soldiers  to  sea  in  the  face  of 
submarines.  When  they  have  a  tunnel  they  can 
use  their  fine  expeditionary  force  upon  the  Con- 
tinent, but  until  then  it  might  just  as  well  not  ex- 
ist so  far  as  Europe  is  concerned.  My  own 
country,  therefore,  was  in  good  case  and  had 
nothing  to  fear.  Great  Britain,  however,  was  al- 
ready feeling  my  grip  upon  her  throat.  As  in 
normal  times  four-fifths  of  her  food  is  imported, 
prices  were  rising  by  leaps  and  bounds.  The  sup- 
plies in  the  country  were  beginning  to  show  signs 
of  depletion,  while  little  was  coming  in  to  replace 
it.  The  insurances  at  Lloyd's  had  risen  to  a 
figure  which  made  the  price  of  the  food  pro- 
hibitive to  the  mass  of  the  people  by  the  time  it 
had  reached  the  market.  The  loaf,  which  under 
ordinary  circumstances  stood  at  fivepence,  was 
[58] 


DANGER! 


already  at  one  and  twopence.  Beef  was  three 
shillings  and  fourpence  a  pound,  and  mutton  two 
shillings  and  ninepence.  Everything  else  was 
in  proportion.  The  Government  had  acted  with 
energy  and  offered  a  big  bounty  for  corn  to  be 
planted  at  once.  It  could  only  be  reaped  five 
months  hence,  however,  and  long  before  then,  as 
the  papers  pointed  out,  half  the  island  would  be 
dead  from  starvation.  Strong  appeals  had  been 
made  to  the  patriotism  of  the  people,  and  they 
were  assured  that  the  interference  with  trade  was 
temporary,  and  that  with  a  little  patience  all 
would  be  well.  But  already  there  was  a  marked 
rise  in  the  death-rate,  especially  among  children, 
who  suffered  from  want  of  milk,  the  cattle  being 
slaughtered  for  food.  There  was  serious  rioting 
in  the  Lanarkshire  coalfields  and  in  the  Midlands, 
together  with  a  Socialistic  upheaval  in  the  East 
of  London,  which  had  assumed  the  proportions  of 
a  civil  war.  Already  there  were  responsible  pa- 
pers which  declared  that  England  was  in  an  im- 
possible position,  and  that  an  immediate  peace 
was  necessary  to  prevent  one  of  the  greatest 
tragedies  in  history.  It  was  my  task  now  to 
prove  to  them  that  they  were  right. 

[59] 


DANGER! 


It  was  May  2nd  when  I  found  myself  back  at 
the  Maplin  Sands  to  the  north  of  the  estuary  of 
the  Thames.  The  Beta  was  sent  on  to  the  Solent 
to  block  it  and  take  the  place  of  the  lamented 
Kappa.  And  now  I  was  throttling  Britain  in- 
deed— London,  Southampton,  the  Bristol  Chan- 
nel, Liverpool,  the  North  Channel,  the  Glasgow 
approaches,  each  was  guarded  by  my  boats. 
Great  liners  were,  as  we  learned  afterwards, 
pouring  their  supplies  into  Galway  and  the  West 
of  Ireland,  where  provisions  were  cheaper  than 
has  ever  been  known.  Tens  of  thousands  were 
embarking  from  Britain  for  Ireland  in  order  to 
save  themselves  from  starvation.  But  you  can- 
rot  transplant  a  whole  dense  population.  The 
main  body  of  the  people,  by  the  middle  of  May, 
were  actually  starving.  At  that  date  wheat  was 
at  a  hundred,  maize  and  barley  at  eighty.  Even 
the  most  obstinate  had  begun  to  see  that  the 
situation  could  not  possibly  continue. 

In  the  great  towns  starving  crowds  clamoured 
for  bread  before  the  municipal  offices,  and  pub- 
lic officials  everywhere  were  attacked  and  often 
murdered  by  frantic  mobs,  composed  largely  of 
desperate  women  who  had  seen  their  infants 
[60] 


DANGER ! 


perish  before  their  eyes.  In  the  country,  roots, 
bark,  and  weeds  of  every  sort  were  used  as  food. 
In  London  the  private  mansions  of  Ministers 
were  guarded  by  strong  pickets  of  soldiers,  while 
a  battalion  of  Guards  was  camped  permanently 
round  the  Houses  of  Parliament.  The  lives  of 
the  Prime  Minister  and  of  the  Foreign  Secretary 
were  continually  threatened  and  occasionally  at- 
tempted. Yet  the  Government  had  entered  upon 
the  war  with  the  full  assent  of  every  party  in 
the  State.  The  true  culprits  were  those,  be  they 
politicians  or  journalists,  who  had  not  the  fore- 
sight to  understand  that  unless  Britain  grew  her 
own  supplies,  or  unless  by  means  of  a  tunnel  she 
had  some  way  of  conveying  them  into  the  island, 
all  her  mighty  expenditure  upon  her  army  and 
her  fleet  was  a  mere  waste  of  money  so  long  as 
her  antagonists  had  a  few  submarines  and  men 
who  could  use  them.  England  has  often  been 
stupid,  but  has  got  off  scot-free.  This  time  she 
was  stupid  and  had  to  pay  the  price.  You  can't 
expect  Luck  to  be  your  saviour  always. 

It  would  be  a  mere  repetition  of  what  I  have 
already  described  if  I  were  to  recount  all  our 
proceedings  during  that  first  ten  days  after  I  re- 

[61] 


DANGER ! 


sinned  my  station.  During  my  absence  the  ships 
had  taken  heart  and  had  begun  to  come  up  again. 
In  the  first  day  I  got  four.  After  that  I  had 
to  go  farther  afield,  and  again  I  picked  up  several 
in  French  waters.  Once  I  had  a  narrow  escape 
through  one  of  my  kingston  valves  getting  some 
grit  into  it  and  refusing  to  act  when  I  was  below 
the  surface.  Our  margin  of  buoyancy  just  car- 
ried us  through.  By  the  end  of  that  week  the 
Channel  was  clear  again,  and  both  Beta  and  my 
own  boat  were  down  West  once  more.  There  we 
had  encouraging  messages  from  our  Bristol  con- 
sort, who  in  turn  had  heard  from  Delta  at  Liver- 
pool. Our  task  was  completely  done.  We  could 
not  prevent  all  food  from  passing  into  the  British 
Islands,  but  at  least  we  had  raised  what  did  get 
in  to  a  price  which  put  it  far  beyond  the  means 
of  the  penniless,  workless  multitudes.  In  vain 
Government  commandeered  it  all  and  doled  it 
out  as  a  general  feeds  the  garrison  of  a  fortress. 
The  task  was  too  great — the  responsibility  too 
horrible.  Even  the  proud  and  stubborn  English 
could  not  face  it  any  longer. 

I  remember  well  how  the  news  came  to  me.    I 
was  lying  at  the  time  off  Selsey  Bill  when  I  saw 
[62] 


DANGER! 


a  small  war-vessel  coming  down  Channel.  It 
had  never  been  my  policy  to  attack  any  vessel 
coming  down.  My  torpedoes  and  even  my  shells 
were  too  precious  for  that.  I  could  not  help  be- 
ing attracted,  however,  by  the  movements  of  this 
ship,  which  came  slowly  zigzagging  in  my  di- 
rection. 

"Looking  for  me,"  thought  I.  "What  on 
earth  does  the  foolish  thing  hope  to  do  if  she  could 
find  me?" 

I  was  lying  awash  at  the  time  and  got  ready 
to  go  below  in  case  she  should  come  for  me.  But 
at  that  moment — she  was  about  half  a  mile  away 
— she  turned  her  quarter,  and  there  to  my  amaze- 
ment was  the  red  flag  with  the  blue  circle,  our 
own  beloved  flag,  flying  from  her  peak.  For 
a  moment  I  thought  that  this  was  some  clever 
dodge  of  the  enemy  to  tempt  me  within  range. 
I  snatched  up  my  glasses  and  called  on  Vornal. 
Then  we  both  recognised  the  vessel.  It  was  the 
Juno,  the  only  one  left  intact  of  our  own  cruisers. 
What  could  she  be  doing  flying  the  flag  in  the 
enemy's  waters?  Then  I  understood  it,  and  turn- 
ing to  Vornal,  we  threw  ourselves  into  each 

[63] 


DANGER ! 


other's  arms.    It  could  only  mean  an  armistice — 
or  peace! 

And  it  was  peace.  We  learned  the  glad  news 
when  we  had  risen  alongside  the  Juno,  and  the 
ringing  cheers  which  greeted  us  had  at  last  died 
away.  Our  orders  were  to  report  ourselves  at 
once  at  Blankenberg.  Then  she  passed  on  down 
Channel  to  collect  the  others.  We  returned  to 
port  upon  the  surface,  steaming  through  the 
whole  British  fleet  as  we  passed  up  the  North 
Sea.  The  crews  clustered  thick  along  the  sides 
of  the  vessels  to  watch  us.  I  can  see  now  their 
sullen,  angry  faces.  Many  shook  their  fists  and 
cursed  us  as  we  went  by.  It  was  not  that  we 
had  damaged  them — I  will  do  them  the  justice  to 
say  that  the  English,  as  the  old  Boer  War  has 
proved,  bear  no  resentment  against  a  brave 
enemy — but  that  they  thought  us  cowardly  to 
attack  merchant  ships  and  avoid  the  warships. 
It  is  like  the  Arabs  who  think  that  a  flank  attack 
is  a  mean,  unmanly  device.  War  is  not  a  big 
game,  my  English  friends.  It  is  a  desperate 
business  to  gain  the  upper  hand,  and  one  must 
use  one's  brain  in  order  to  find  the  weak  spot  of 
one's  enemy.  It  it  not  fair  to  blame  me  if 
[64] 


DANGER! 


I  have  found  yours.  It  was  my  duty.  Perhaps 
those  officers  and  sailors  who  scowled  at  the  little 
Iota  that  May  morning  have  by  this  time  done 
me  justice  when  the  first  bitterness  of  unde- 
served defeat  was  passed. 

Let  others  describe  my  entrance  into  Blanken- 
berg;  the  mad  enthusiasm  of  the  crowds,  and 
the  magnificent  public  reception  of  each  succes- 
sive boat  as  it  arrived.  Surely  the  men  deserved 
the  grant  made  them  by  the  State  which  has 
enabled  each  of  them  to  be  independent  for  life. 
As  a  feat  of  endurance,  that  long  residence  in 
such  a  state  of  mental  tension  in  cramped  quar- 
ters, breathing  an  unnatural  atmosphere,  will 
long  remain  as  a  record.  The  country  may  well 
be  proud  of  such  sailors. 

The  terms  of  peace  were  not  made  onerous,  for 
we  were  in  no  condition  to  make  Great  Britain 
our  permanent  enemy.  We  knew  well  that  we 
had  won  the  war  by  circumstances  which  would 
never  be  allowed  to  occur  again,  and  that  in  a 
few  years  the  Island  Power  would  be  as  strong 
as  ever — stronger,  perhaps — for  the  lesson  that 
she  had  learned.  It  would  be  madness  to  pro- 
voke such  an  antagonist.  A  mutual  salute  of 

[65] 


DANGER! 


flags  was  arranged,  the  Colonial  boundary  was 
adjusted  by  arbitration,  and  we  claimed  no  in- 
demnity beyond  an  undertaking  on  the  part  of 
Britain  that  she  would  pay  any  damages  which 
an  International  Court  might  award  to  France 
or  to  the  United  States  for  injury  received 
through  the  operations  of  our  submarines.  So 
ended  the  war! 

Of  course,  England  will  not  be  caught  napping 
in  such  a  fashion  again !  Her  foolish  blindness  is 
partly  explained  by  her  delusion  that  her  enemy 
would  not  torpedo  merchant  vessels.  Common 
sense  should  have  told  her  that  her  enemy  will 
play  the  game  that  suits  them  best — that  they  will 
not  inquire  what  they  may  do,  but  they  will  do 
it  first  and  talk  about  it  afterwards.  The  opinion 
of  the  whole  world  now  is  that  if  a  blockade  were 
proclaimed  one  may  do  what  one  can  with  those 
who  try  to  break  it,  and  that  it  was  as  reasonable 
to  prevent  food  from  reaching  England  in  war 
time  as  it  is  for  a  besieger  to  prevent  the  victual- 
ling of  a  beleaguered  fortress. 

"I  cannot  end  this  account  better  than  by 
quoting  the  first  few  paragraphs  of  a  leader  in 
the  Times,  which  appeared  shortly  after  the 
[66] 


DANGER ! 


declaration  of  peace.  It  may  be  taken  to  epito- 
mise the  saner  public  opinion  of  England  upon 
the  meaning  and  lessons  of  the  episode. 

"In  all  this  miserable  business,"  said  the  writer, 
"which  has  cost  us  the  loss  of  a  considerable  por- 
tion of  our  merchant  fleet  and  more  than  fifty 
thousand  civilian  lives,  there  is  just  one  con- 
solation to  be  found.  It  lies  in  the  fact  that  our 
temporary  conqueror  is  a  Power  which  is  not 
strong  enough  to  reap  the  fruits  of  her  victory. 
Had  we  endured  this  humiliation  at  the  hands 
of  any  of  the  first-class  Powers  it  would  certainly 
have  entailed  the  loss  of  all  our  Crown  Colonies 
and  tropical  possessions,  besides  the  payment  of 
a  huge  indemnity.  We  were  absolutely  at  the 
feet  of  our  conqueror  and  had  no  possible  al- 
ternative but  to  submit  to  her  terms,  however 
onerous.  Norland  has  had  the  good  sense  to  un- 
derstand that  she  must  not  abuse  her  temporary 
advantage,  and  has  been  generous  in  her  dealings. 
In  the  grip  of  any  other  Power  we  should  have 
ceased  to  exist  as  an  Empire. 

Even  now  we  are  not  out  of  the  wood.  Some 
one  may  maliciously  pick  a  quarrel  with  us  be- 
fore we  get  our  house  in  order,  and  use  the  easy 
weapon  which  has  been  demonstrated.  It  is  to 
meet  such  a  contingency  that  the  Government  has 

[67] 


DANGEE ! 


rushed  enormous  stores  of  food  at  the  public  ex- 
pense into  the  country.  In  a  very  few  months  the 
new  harvest  will  have  appeared.  On  the  whole 
we  can  face  the  immediate  future  without  undue 
depression,  though  there  remain  some  causes  for 
anxiety.  These  will  no  doubt  be  energetically 
handled  by  this  new  and  efficient  Government, 
which  has  taken  the  place  of  those  discredited 
politicians  who  led  us  into  a  war  without  having 
foreseen  how  helpless  we  were  against  an  obvious 
form  of  attack. 

Already  the  lines  of  our  reconstruction  are 
evident.  The  first  and  most  important  is  that 
our  Party  men  realise  that  there  is  something 
more  vital  than  their  academic  disputes  about 
Free  Trade  or  Protection,  and  that  all  theory 
must  give  way  to  the  fact  that  a  country  is  in 
an  artificial  and  dangerous  condition  if  she  does 
not  produce  within  her  own  borders  sufficient 
food  to  at  least  keep  life  in  her  population. 
Whether  this  should  be  brought  about  by  a  tax 
upon  foreign  foodstuffs,  or  by  a  bounty  upon 
home  products,  or  by  a  combination  of  the  two,  is 
now  under  discussion.  But  all  Parties  are  com- 
bined upon  the  principle,  and,  though  it  will  un- 
doubtedly entail  either  a  rise  in  prices  or  a  de- 
terioration in  quality  in  the  food  of  the  work- 
ing-classes, they  will  at  least  be  insured  against 
so  terrible  a  visitation  as  that  which  is  fresh  in 
[68] 


DANGEE ! 


our  memories.  At  any  rate,  we  have  got  past 
the  stage  of  argument.  It  must  be  so.  The  in- 
creased prosperity  of  the  farming  interest,  and, 
as  we  will  hope,  the  cessation  of  agricultural  emi- 
gration, will  be  benefits  to  be  counted  against  the 
obvious  disadvantages. 

The  second  lesson  is  the  immediate  construc- 
tion of  not  one  but  two  double-lined  railways 
under  the  Channel.  We  stand  in  a  white  sheet 
over  the  matter,  since  the  project  has  always  been 
discouraged  in  these  columns,  but  we  are  pre- 
pared to  admit  that  had  such  railway  communica- 
tion been  combined  with  adequate  arrangements 
for  forwarding  supplies  from  Marseilles,  we 
should  have  avoided  our  recent  surrender.  We 
still  insist  that  we  cannot  trust  entirely  to  a  tun- 
nel, since  our  enemy  might  have  allies  in  the 
Mediterranean;  but  in  a  single  contest  with  any 
Power  of  the  North  of  Europe  it  would  certainly 
be  of  inestimable  benefit.  There  may  be  dangers 
attendant  upon  the  existence  of  a  tunnel,  but  it 
must  now  be  admitted  that  they  are  trivial  com- 
pared to  those  which  come  from  its  absence.  As 
to  the  building  of  large  fleets  of  merchant  sub- 
marines for  the  carriage  of  food,  that  is  a  new 
departure  which  will  be  an  additional  insurance 
against  the  danger  which  has  left  so  dark  a  page 
in  the  history  of  our  country." 

[69] 


II 

ONE     CROWDED     HOUR 

THE  place  was  the  Eastbourne-Tunbridge 
road,  not  very  far  from  the  Cross  in  Hand 
— a  lonely  stretch,  with  a  heath  running  upon 
either  side.  The  time  was  half-past  eleven  upon 
a  Sunday  night  in  the  late  summer.  A  motor  was 
passing  slowly  down  the  road. 

It  was  a  long,  lean  Rolls-Royce,  running 
smoothly  with  a  gentle  purring  of  the  engine. 
Through  the  two  vivid  circles  cast  by  the  electric 
head-lights  the  waving  grass  fringes  and  clumps 
of  heather  streamed  swiftly  like  some  golden  cine- 
matograph, leaving  a  blacker  darkness  behind 
and  around  them.  One  ruby-red  spot  shone  upon 
the  road,  but  no  number-plate  was  visible  within 
the  dim  ruddy  halo  of  the  tail-lamp  which  cast  it. 
The  car  was  open  and  of  a  tourist  type,  but  even 
[70] 


ONE    CROWDED    HOUR 


in  that  obscure  light,  for  the  night  was  moonless, 
an  observer  could  hardly  fail  to  have  noticed  a 
curious  indefiniteness  in  its  lines.  As  it  slid  into 
and  across  the  broad  stream  of  light  from  an  open 
cottage  door  the  reason  could  be  seen.  The 
body  was  hung  with  a  singular  loose  arrangement 
of  brown  holland.  Even  the  long  black  bonnet 
was  banded  with  some  close-drawn  drapery. 

The  solitary  man  who  drove  this  curious  car 
was  broad  and  burly.  He  sat  hunched  up  over 
his  steering-wheel,  with  the  brim  of  a  Tyrolean 
hat  drawn  down  over  his  eyes.  The  red  end  of 
a  cigarette  smouldered  under  the  black  shadow 
thrown  by  the  headgear.  A  dark  ulster  of  some 
frieze-like  material  was  turned  up  in  the  collar 
until  it  covered  his  ears.  His  neck  was  pushed 
forward  from  his  rounded  shoulders,  and  he 
seemed,  as  the  car  now  slid  noiselessly  down  the 
long,  sloping  road,  with  the  clutch  disengaged 
and  the  engine  running  free,  to  be  peering  ahead 
of  him  through  the  darkness  in  search  of  some 
eagerly-expected  object. 

The  distant  toot  of  a  motor-horn  came  faintly 
from  some  point  far  to  the  south  of  him.  On 
such  a  night,  at  such  a  place,  all  traffic  must  be 

[71] 


ONE   CROWDED   HOUR 


from  south  to  north  when  the  current  of  London 
week-enders  sweeps  back  from  the  watering-place 
to  the  capital — from  pleasure  to  duty.  The  man 
sat  straight  and  listened  intently.  Yes,  there  it 
was  again,  and  certainly  to  the  south  of  him.  His 
face  was  over  the  wheel  and  his  eyes  strained 
through  the  darkness.  Then  suddenly  he  spat 
out  his  cigarette  and  gave  a  sharp  intake  of  the 
breath.  Far  away  down  the  road  two  little  yel- 
low points  had  rounded  a  curve.  They  vanished 
into  a  dip,  shot  upwards  once  more,  and  then 
vanished  again.  The  inert  man  in  the  draped 
car  woke  suddenly  into  intense  life.  From  his 
pocket  he  pulled  a  mask  of  dark  cloth,  which  he 
fastened  securely  across  his  face,  adjusting  it 
carefully  that  his  sight  might  be  unimpeded.  For 
an  instant  he  uncovered  an  acetylene  hand- 
lantern,  took  a  hasty  glance  at  his  own  prepara- 
tions, and  laid  it  beside  a  Mauser  pistol  upon  the 
seat  alongside  him.  Then,  twitching  his  hat  down 
lower  than  ever,  he  released  his  clutch  and  slid 
downward  his  gear-lever.  With  a  chuckle  and 
shudder  the  long,  black  machine  sprang  forward, 
and  shot  with  a  soft  sigh  from  her  powerful  en- 
gines down  the  sloping  gradient.  The  driver 
[72] 


ONE   CROWDED    HOUR 


stooped  and  switched  off  his  electric  head-lights. 
Only  a  dim  grey  swathe  cut  through  the  black 
heath  indicated  the  line  of  his  road.  From  in  front 
there  came  presently  a  confused  puffing  and  rat- 
tling and  clanging  as  the  oncoming  car  breasted 
the  slope.  It  coughed  and  spluttered  on  a  power- 
ful, old-fashioned  low  gear,  while  its  engine 
throbbed  like  a  weary  heart.  The  yellow,  glaring 
lights  dipped  for  the  last  time  into  a  switchback 
curve.  When  they  reappeared  over  the  crest  the 
two  cars  were  within  thirty  yards  of  each  other. 
The  dark  one  darted  across  the  road  and  barred 
the  other's  passage,  while  a  warning  acetylene 
lamp  was  waved  in  the  air.  With  a  jarring  of 
brakes  the  noisy  new-comer  was  brought  to  a 
halt. 

"I  say,"  cried  an  aggrieved  voice,  "  'pon  my 
soul,  you  know,  we  might  have  had  an  accident. 
Why  the  devil  don't  you  keep  your  head-lights 
on?  I  never  saw  you  till  I  nearly  burst  my  radi- 
ators on  you  I" 

The  acetylene  lamp,  held  forward,  discovered 
a  very  angry  young  man,  blue-eyed,  yellow- 
moustached,  and  florid,  sitting  alone  at  the  wheel 
of  an  antiquated  twelve-horse  Wolseley.  Sud- 

[73] 


ONE   CROWDED   HOUR 


denly  the  aggrieved  look  upon  his  flushed  face 
changed  to  one  of  absolute  bewilderment.  The 
driver  in  the  dark  car  had  sprung  out  of  the 
seat,  a  black,  long-barrelled,  wicked-looking 
pistol  was  poked  in  the  traveller's  face,  and  be- 
hind the  further  sights  of  it  was  a  circle  of  black 
cloth  with  two  deadly  eyes  looking  from  as  many 
slits. 

"Hands  up !"  said  a  quick,  stern  voice.  "Hands 
up !  or,  by  the  Lord — 

The  young  man  was  as  brave  as  his  neigh- 
bour, but  the  hands  went  up  all  the  same. 

"Get  down!"  said  his  assailant,  curtly. 

The  young  man  stepped  forth  into  the  road, 
followed  closely  by  the  covering  lantern  and 
pistol.  Once  he  made  as  if  he  would  drop  his 
hands,  but  a  short,  stern  word  jerked  them  up 
again. 

"I  say,  look  here,  this  is  rather  out  o'date,  ain't 
it?"  said  the  traveller.  "I  expect  you're  joking — 
what?" 

"Your  watch,"  said  the  man  behind  the  Mauser 
pistol. 

"You  can't  really  mean  it!" 

"Your  watch,  I  say!" 
[74] 


ONE   CROWDED    HOUR 


"Well,  take  it,  if  you  must.  It's  only  plated, 
anyhow.  You're  two  centuries  out  in  time,  or 
a  few  thousand  miles  longitude.  The  bush  is  your 
mark — or  America.  You  don't  seem  in  the  pic- 
ture on  a  Sussex  road." 

"Purse,"  said  the  man.  There  was  something 
very  compelling  in  his  voice  and  methods.  The 
purse  was  handed  over. 

"Any  rings?" 

"Don't  wear  em." 

"Stand  there !    Don't  move  I" 

The  highwayman  passed  his  victim  and  threw 
open  the  bonnet  of  the  Wolseley.  His  hand,  with 
a  pair  of  steel  pliers,  was  thrust  deep  into  the 
works.  There  was  the  snap  of  a  parting  wire. 

"Hang  it  all,  don't  crock  my  car!"  cried  the 
traveller. 

He  turned,  but  quick  as  a  flash  the  pistol  was 
at  his  head  once  more.  And  yet  even  in  that 
flash,  whilst  the  robber  whisked  round  from  the 
broken  circuit,  something  had  caught  the  young 
man's  eye  which  made  him  gasp  and  start.  He 
opened  his  mouth  as  if  about  to  shout  some  words. 
Then  with  an  evident  effort  he  restrained  himself. 

"Get  in,"  said  the  highwayman. 

[75] 


ONE   CROWDED    HOUR 


The  traveller  climbed  back  to  his  seat. 

"What  is  your  name?" 

"Ronald  Barker.     What's  yours?" 

The  masked  man  ignored  the  impertinence. 

"Where  do  you  live?"  he  asked. 

"My  cards  are  in  my  purse.    Take  one." 

The  highwayman  sprang  into  his  car,  the  en- 
gine of  which  had  hissed  and  whispered  in  gentle 
accompaniment  to  the  interview.  With  a  clash 
he  threw  back  his  side-brake,  flung  in  his  gears, 
twirled  the  wheel  hard  round,  and  cleared  the 
motionless  Wolseley.  A  minute  later  he  was  glid- 
ing swiftly,  with  all  his  lights  gleaming,  some 
half-mile  southward  on  the  road,  while  Mr.  Ron- 
ald Barker,  a  side-lamp  in  his  hand,  was  rummag- 
ing furiously  among  the  odds  and  ends  of  his  re- 
pair-box for  a  strand  of  wire  which  would  connect 
up  his  electricity  and  set  him  on  his  way  once 
more. 

When  he  had  placed  a  safe  distance  between 
himself  and  his  victim,  the  adventurer  eased  up, 
took  his  booty  from  his  pocket,  replaced  the  watch, 
opened  the  purse,  and  counted  out  the  money. 
Seven  shillings  constituted  the  miserable  spoil. 
The  poor  result  of  his  efforts  seemed  to  amuse 
[76] 


ONE    CROWDED    HOUR 


rather  than  annoy  him,  for  he  chuckled  as  he 
held  the  two  half-crowns  and  the  florin  in  the 
glare  of  his  lantern.  Then  suddenly  his  man- 
ner changed.  He  thrust  the  thin  purse  back  into 
his  pocket,  released  his  brake,  and  shot  onwards 
with  the  same  tense  bearing  with  which  he  had 
started  upon  his  adventure.  The  lights  of  an- 
other car  were  coming  down  the  road. 

On  this  occasion  the  methods  of  the  high- 
wayman were  less  furtive.  Experience  had  clearly 
given  him  confidence.  With  lights  still  blazing, 
he  ran  towards  the  new-comers,  and,  halting  in 
the  middle  of  the  road,  summoned  them  to  stop. 
From  the  point  of  view  of  the  astonished  travel- 
lers the  result  was  sufficiently  impressive.  They 
saw  in  the  glare  of  their  own  head-lights  two 
glowing  discs  on  either  side  of  the  long,  black- 
muzzled  snout  of  a  high-power  car,  and  above 
the  masked  face  and  menacing  figure  of  its  soli- 
tary driver.  In  the  golden  circle  thrown  by  the 
rover  there  stood  an  elegant,  open-topped,  twen- 
ty-horse Humber,  with  an  undersized  and  very 
astonished  chauffeur  blinking  from  under  his 
peaked  cap.  From  behind  the  wind-screen  the 
veil-bound  hats  and  wondering  faces  of  two  very 

[77] 


ONE   CROWDED   HOUR 


pretty  young  women  protruded,  one  upon  either 
side,  and  a  little  crescendo  of  frightened  squeaks 
announced  the  acute  emotion  of  one  of  them.  The 
other  was  cooler  and  more  critical. 

"Don't  give  it  away,  Hilda,"  she  whispered. 
"Do  shut  up,  and  don't  be  such  a  silly.  It's 
Bertie  or  one  of  the  boys  playing  it  on  us." 

"No,  no!  It's  the  real  thing,  Flossie.  It's  a 
robber,  sure  enough.  Oh,  my  goodness,  what- 
ever shall  we  do?" 

"What  an  'ad.' !"  cried  the  other.  "Oh,  what  a 
glorious  'ad.'!  Too  late  now  for  the  mornings, 
but  they'll  have  it  in  every  evening  paper,  sure." 

"What's  it  going  to  cost?"  groaned  the  other. 
"Oh,  Flossie,  Flossie,  I'm  sure  I'm  going  to  faint! 
Don't  you  think  if  we  both  screamed  together  we 
could  do  some  good  ?  Isn't  he  too  awful  with  that 
black  thing  over  his  face?  Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear! 
He's  killing  poor  little  Alf !" 

The  proceedings  of  the  robber  were  indeed 
somewhat  alarming.  Springing  down  from  his 
car,  he  had  pulled  the  chauffeur  out  of  his  seat 
by  the  scruff  of  his  neck.  The  sight  of  the 
Mauser  had  cut  short  all  remonstrance,  and  under 
its  compulsion  the  little  man  had  pulled  open  the 
[78] 


ONE   CROWDED    HOUR 


bonnet  and  extracted  the  sparking  plugs.  Eav- 
ing  thus  secured  the  immobility  of  his  capture, 
the  masked  man  walked  forward,  lantern  in  hand, 
to  the  side  of  the  car.  He  had  laid  aside  the  gruff 
sternness  with  which  he  had  treated  Mr.  Ronald 
Barker,  and  his  voice  and  manner  were  gentle, 
though  determined.  He  even  raised  his  hat  as  a 
prelude  to  his  address. 

"I  am  sorry  to  inconvenience  you,  ladies,"  said 
he,  and  his  voice  had  gone  up  several  notes  since 
the  previous  interview.  "May  I  ask  who  you 
are?" 

Miss  Hilda  was  beyond  coherent  speech,  but 
Miss  Flossie  was  of  a  sterner  mould. 

"This  is  a  pretty  business,"  said  she.  "What 
right  have  you  to  stop  us  on  the  public  road,  I 
should  like  to  know?" 

"My  time  is  short,"  said  the  robber,  in  a  sterner 
voice.  "I  must  ask  you  to  answer  my  question." 

"Tell  him,  Flossie!  For  goodness'  sake  be 
nice  to  him !"  cried  Hilda. 

"Well,  we're  from  the  Gaiety  Theatre,  Lon- 
don, if  you  want  to  know,"  said  the  young  lady. 
"Perhaps  you've  heard  of  Miss  Flossie  Thornton 
and  Miss  Hilda  Mannering?  We've  been  play- 

[79] 


ONE   CROWDED    HOUR 


ing  a  week  at  the  Royal  at  Eastbourne,  and  took 
a  Sunday  off  to  ourselves.  So  now  you  know!" 

'I  must  ask  you  for  your  purses  and  for  your 
jewellery." 

Both  ladies  set  up  shrill  expostulations,  but 
they  found,  as  Mr.  Ronald  Barker  had  done,  that 
there  was  something  quietly  compelling  in  this 
man's  methods.  In  a  very  few  minutes  they  had 
handed  over  their  purses,  and  a  pile  of  glittering 
rings,  bangles,  brooches,  and  chains  was  lying  up- 
on the  front  seat  of  the  car.  The  diamonds 
glowed  and  shimmered  like  little  electric  points 
in  the  light  of  the  lantern.  He  picked  up  the 
glittering  tangle  and  weighed  it  in  his  hand. 

"Anything  you  particularly  value?"  he  asked 
the  ladies;  but  Miss  Flossie  was  in  no  humour 
for  concessions. 

"Don't  come  the  Claude  Duval  over  us,"  said 
she.  "Take  the  lot  or  leave  the  lot.  We  don't 
want  bits  of  our  own  given  back  to  us." 

"Except  just  Billy's  necklace!"  cried  Hilda, 
and  snatched  at  a  little  rope  of  pearls.  The  rob- 
ber bowed,  and  released  his  hold  of  it. 

"Anything  else?" 

The  valiant  Flossie  began  suddenly  to  cry. 
[80] 


ONE   CROWDED    HOUR 


Hilda  did  the  same.  The  effect  upon  the  robber 
was  surprising.  He  threw  the  whole  heap  of 
jewellery  into  the  nearest  lap. 

"There!  there!  Take  it!"  he  said.  "It's 
trumpery  stuff,  anyhow.  It's  worth  something 
to  you,  and  nothing  to  me." 

Tears  changed  in  a  moment  to  smiles. 

"You're  welcome  to  the  purses.  The  'ad.'  is 
worth  ten  times  the  money.  But  what  a  funny 
way  of  getting  a  living  nowadays !  Aren't  you 
afraid  of  being  caught?  It's  all  so  wonderful, 
like  a  scene  from  a  comedy." 

"It  may  be  a  tragedy,"  said  the  robber. 

"Oh,  I  hope  not — I'm  sure  I  hope  not!"  cried 
the  two  ladies  of  the  drama. 

But  the  robber  was  in  no  mood  for  further 
conversation.  Far  away  down  the  road  tiny 
points  of  light  had  appeared.  Fresh  business 
was  coming  to  him,  and  he  must  not  mix  his  cases. 
Disengaging  his  machine,  he  raised  his  hat,  and 
slipped  off  to  meet  this  new  arrival,  while  Miss 
Flossie  and  Miss  Hilda  leaned  out  of  their  der- 
elict car,  still  palpitating  from  their  adventure, 
and  watched  the  red  gleam  of  the  tail-light  until 
it  merged  into  the  darkness. 

[81] 


ONE   CROWDED    HOUR 


This  time  there  was  every  sign  of  a  rich  prize. 
Behind  its  four  grand  lamps  set  in  a  broad  frame 
of  glittering  brasswork  the  magnificent  sixty- 
horse  Daimler  breasted  the  slope  with  the  low, 
deep,  even  snore  which  proclaimed  its  enormous 
latent  strength.  Like  some  rich-laden,  high- 
pooped  Spanish  galleon,  she  kept  her  course  until 
the  prowling  craft  ahead  of  her  swept  across  her 
bows  and  brought  her  to  a  sudden  halt.  An  angry 
face,  red,  blotched,  and  evil,  shot  out  of  the  open 
window  of  the  closed  limousine.  The  robber  was 
aware  of  a  high,  bald  forehead,  gross  pendulous 
cheeks,  and  two  little  crafty  eyes  which  gleamed 
between  creases  of  fat. 

"Out  of  my  way,  sir!  Out  of  my  way  this 
instant !"  cried  a  rasping  voice.  "Drive  over  him, 
Hearn!  Get  down  and  pull  him  off  the  seat. 
The  fellow's  drunk— he's  drunk  I  say!" 

Up  to  this  point  the  proceedings  of  the  modern 
highwayman  might  have  passed  as  gentle.  Now 
they  turned  in  an  instant  to  savagery.  The 
chauffeur,  a  burly,  capable  fellow,  incited  by  that 
raucous  voice  behind  him,  sprang  from  the  car 
and  seized  the  advancing  robber  by  the  throat. 
The  latter  hit  out  with  the  butt-end  of  his  pistol, 
[82] 


ONE   CROWDED    HOUR 


and  the  man  dropped  groaning  on  the  road. 
Stepping  over  his  prostrate  body  the  adventurer 
pulled  open  the  door,  seized  the  stout  occupant 
savagely  by  the  ear,  and  dragged  him  bellowing 
on  to  the  highway.  Then,  very  deliberately,  he 
struck  him  twice  across  the  face  with  his  open 
hand.  The  blows  rang  out  like  pistol-shots  in 
the  silence  of  the  night.  The  fat  traveller  turned 
a  ghastly  colour  and  fell  back  half  senseless 
against  the  side  of  the  limousine.  The  robber 
dragged  open  his  coat,  wrenched  away  the  heavy 
gold  watch-chain  with  all  that  it  held,  plucked 
out  the  great  diamond  pin  that  sparkled  in  the 
black  satin  tie,  dragged  off  four  rings — not  one 
of  which  could  have  cost  less  than  three  figures — 
and  finally  tore  from  his  inner  pocket  a  bulky 
leather  note-book.  All  this  property  he  trans- 
ferred to  his  own  black  overcoat,  and  added  to  it 
the  man's  pearl  cuff-links,  and  even  the  golden 
stud  which  held  his  collar.  Having  made  sure 
that  there  was  nothing  else  to  take,  the  robber 
flashed  his  lantern  upon  the  prostrate  chauffeur, 
and  satisfied  himself  that  he  was  stunned  and  not 
dead.  Then,  returning  to  the  master,  he  pro- 
ceeded very  deliberately  to  tear  all  his  clothes 

[83] 


ONE    CROWDED    HOUR 


from  his  body  with  a  ferocious  energy  which  set 
his  victim  whimpering  and  writhing  in  imminent 
expectation  of  murder. 

Whatever  his  tormentor's  intention  may  have 
been,  it  was  very  effectually  frustrated.  A  sound 
made  him  turn  his  head,  and  there,  no  very  great 
distance  off,  were  the  lights  of  a  car  coming  swift- 
ly from  the  north.  Such  a  car  must  have  already 
passed  the  wreckage  which  this  pirate  had  left 
behind  him.  It  was  following  his  track  with  a 
deliberate  purpose,  and  might  be  crammed  with 
every  county  constable  of  the  district. 

The  adventurer  had  no  time  to  lose.  He 
darted  from  his  bedraggled  victim,  sprang  into 
his  own  seat,  and  with  his  foot  on  the  accelerator 
shot  swiftly  off  down  the  road.  Some  way  down 
there  was  a  narrow  side  lane,  and  into  this  the 
fugitive  turned,  cracking  on  his  high  speed  and 
leaving  a  good  five  miles  between  him  and  any 
pursuer  before  he  ventured  to  stop.  Then,  in  a 
quiet  corner,  he  counted  over  his  booty  of  the 
evening — the  paltry  plunder  of  Mr.  Ronald  Bar- 
ker, the  rather  better- furnished  purses  of  the 
actresses,  which  contained  four  pounds  between 
them,  and,  finally,  the  gorgeous  jewellery  and 
[84] 


ONE   CROWDED    HOUR 


well-filled  note-book  of  the  plutocrat  upon  the 
Daimler.  Five  notes  of  fifty  pounds,  four  of 
ten,  fifteen  sovereigns,  and  a  number  of  valuable 
papers  made  up  a  most  noble  haul.  It  was  clearly 
enough  for  one  night's  work.  The  adventurer 
replaced  all  his  ill-gotten  gains  in  his  pocket,  and, 
lighting  a  cigarette,  set  forth  upon  his  way  with 
the  air  of  a  man  who  has  no  further  care  upon 
his  mind. 

It  was  on  the  Monday  morning  following  upon 
this  eventful  evening  that  Sir  Henry  Hailworthy, 
of  Walcot  Old  Place,  having  finished  his  break- 
fast in  a  leisurely  fashion,  strolled  down  to  his 
study  with  the  intention  of  writing  a  few  letters 
before  setting  forth  to  take  his  place  upon  the 
county  bench.  Sir  Henry  was  a  Deputy-Lieu- 
tenant of  the  county ;  he  was  a  baronet  of  ancient 
blood ;  he  was  a  magistrate  of  ten  years'  standing; 
and  he  was  famous  above  all  as  the  breeder  of 
many  a  good  horse  and  the  most  desperate  rider 
in  all  the  Weald  country.  A  tall,  upstanding 
man,  with  a  strong,  clean-shaven  face,  heavy  black 
eyebrows,  and  a  square,  resolute  jaw,  he  was 
one  whom  it  was  better  to  call  friend  than  foe. 

[85] 


ONE   CROWDED    HOUR 


Though  nearly  fifty  years  of  age,  he  bore  no  sign 
of  having  passed  his  youth,  save  that  Nature,  in 
one  of  her  freakish  moods,  had  planted  one  little 
feather  of  white  hair  above  his  right  ear,  making 
the  rest  of  his  thick  black  curls  the  darker  by 
contrast.  He  was  in  thoughtful  mood  this  morn- 
ing, for  having  lit  his  pipe  he  sat  at  his  desk  with 
his  blank  note-paper  in  front  of  him,  lost  in  a 
deep  reverie. 

Suddenly  his  thoughts  were  brought  back  to 
the  present.  From  behind  the  laurels  of  the 
curving  drive  there  came  a  low,  clanking  sound, 
which  swelled  into  the  clatter  and  jingle  of  an 
ancient  car.  Then  from  round  the  corner  there 
swung  an  old-fashioned  Wolseley,  with  a  fresh- 
complexioned,  yellow-moustached  young  man  at 
the  wheel.  Sir  Henry  sprang  to  his  feet  at  the 
sight,  and  then  sat  down  once  more.  He  rose 
again  as  a  minute  later  the  footman  announced 
Mr.  Ronald  Barker.  Tt  was  an  early  visit,  but 
Barker  was  Sir  Henry's  intimate  friend.  As 
each  was  a  fine  shot,  horseman,  and  billiard- 
player,  there  was  much  in  common  between  the 
two  men,  and  the  younger  (and  poorer)  was  in 
the  habit  of  spending  at  least  two  evenings  a  week 
[86] 


ONE   CROWDED   HOUE 


at  Walcot  Old  Place.  Therefore,  Sir  Henry 
advanced  cordially  with  outstretched  hand  to  wel- 
come him. 

"You're  an  early  bird  this  morning,"  said  he. 
"What's  up?  If  you  are  going  over  to  Lewes 
we  could  motor  together." 

But  the  younger  man's  demeanour  was  peculiar 
and  ungracious.  He  disregarded  the  hand  which 
was  held  out  to  him,  and  he  stood  pulling  at  his 
own  long  moustache  and  staring  with  troubled, 
questioning  eyes  at  the  county  magistrate. 

"Well,  what's  the  matter?"  asked  the  latter. 

Still  the  young  man  did  not  speak.  He  was 
clearly  on  the  edge  of  an  interview  which  he  found 
it  most  difficult  to  open.  His  host  grew  im- 
patient. 

"You  don't  seem  yourself  this  morning.  What 
on  earth  is  the  matter?  Anything  upset  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  Ronald  Barker,  with  emphasis. 

"What  has?" 

"You  have." 

Sir  Henry  smiled.  "Sit  down,  my  dear  fellow. 
If  you  have  any  grievance  against  me,  let  me 
hear  it." 

Barker  sat  down.  He  seemed  to  be  gathering 

[87] 


ONE   CROWDED    HOUE 


himself  for  a  reproach.  When  it  did  come  it  was 
like  a  bullet  from  a  gun. 

"Why  did  you  rob  me  last  night?" 

The  magistrate  was  a  man  of  iron  nerve.  He 
showed  neither  surprise  nor  resentment.  Not  a 
muscle  twitched  upon  his  calm,  set  face. 

"Why  do  you  say  that  I  robbed  you  last 
night?" 

"A  big,  tall  fellow  in  a  motor-car  stopped 
me  on  the  Mayfield  road.  He  poked  a  pistol 
in  my  face  and  took  my  purse  and  my  watch. 
Sir  Henry,  that  man  was  you." 

The  magistrate  smiled. 

"Am  I  the  only  big,  tall  man  in  the  district? 
Am  I  the  only  man  with  a  motor-car?" 

"Do  you  think  I  couldn't  tell  a  Rolls-Royce 
when  I  see  it — I,  who  spend  half  my  life  on  a 
car  and  the  other  half  under  it?  Who  has  a 
Rolls-Royce  about  here  except  you?" 

"My  dear  Barker,  don't  you  think  that  such 
a  modern  highwayman  as  you  describe  would  be 
more  likely  to  operate  outside  his  own  district? 
How  many  hundred  Rolls-Royces  are  there  in 
the  South  of  England?" 

"No,  it  won't  do,  Sir  Henry — it  won't  do! 
[88] 


ONE   CROWDED    HOUE 


Even  your  voice,  though  you  sunk  it  a  few  notes, 
was  familiar  enough  to  me.  But  hang  it,  man! 
What  did  you  do  it  for?  That's  what  gets  over 
me.  That  you  should  stick  up  me,  one  of  your 
closest  friends,  a  man  that  worked  himself  to  the 
bone  when  you  stood  for  the  division — and  all  for 
the  sake  of  a  Brummagem  watch  and  a  few  shil- 
lings— is  simply  incredible." 

"Simply  incredible,"  repeated  the  magistrate, 
with  a  smile. 

"And  then  those  actresses,  poor  little  devils, 
who  have  to  earn  all  they  get.  I  followed  you 
down  the  road,  you  see.  That  was  a  dirty  trick, 
if  ever  I  heard  one.  The  City  shark  was  differ- 
ent. If  a  chap  must  go  a-robbing,  that  sort  of 
fellow  is  fair  game.  But  your  friend,  and  then 
the  girls — well,  I  say  again,  I  couldn't  have  be- 
lieved it." 

"Then  why  believe  it?" 

"Because  it  is  so." 

"Well,  you  seem  to  have  persuaded  yourself 
to  that  effect.  You  don't  seem  to  have  much 
evidence  to  lay  before  any  one  else." 

"I  could  swear  to  you  in  a  police-court.  What 
put  the  lid  on  it  was  that  when  you  were  cutting 

[89] 


ONE    CROWDED    HOUR 


my  wire — and  an  infernal  liberty  it  was ! — I  saw 
that  white  tuft  of  yours  sticking  out  from  be- 
hind your  mask." 

For  the  first  time  an  acute  observer  might  have 
seen  some  slight  sign  of  emotion  upon  the  face  of 
the  baronet. 

"You  seem  to  have  a  fairly  vivid  imagination," 
said  he. 

His  visitor  flushed  with  anger. 

"See  here,  Hailworthy,"  said  he,  opening  his 
hand  and  showing  a  small,  jagged  triangle  of 
black  cloth.  "Do  you  see  that?  It  was  on  the 
ground  near  the  car  of  the  young  women.  You 
must  have  ripped  it  off  as  you  jumped  out  from 
your  seat.  Now  send  for  that  heavy  black  driv- 
ing-coat of  yours.  If  you  don't  ring  the  bell  I'll 
ring  it  myself,  and  we  shall  have  it  in.  I'm 
going  to  see  this  thing  through,  and  don't  you 
make  any  mistake  about  that." 

The  baronet's  answer  was  a  surprising  one. 
He  rose,  passed  Barker's  chair,  and,  walking  over 
to  the  door,  he  locked  it  and  placed  the  key  in  his 
pocket. 

"You  are  going  to  see  it  through,"  said  he. 
"I'll  lock  you  in  until  you  do.  Now  we  must 
[90] 


ONE   CROWDED    HOUE 


have  a  straight  talk,  Barker,  as  man  to  man,  and 
whether  it  ends  in  tragedy  or  not  depends  on 
you." 

He  had  half -opened  one  of  the  drawers  in  his 
desk  as  he  spoke.  His  visitor  frowned  in  anger. 

"You  won't  make  matters  any  better  by 
threatening  me,  Hailworthy.  I  am  going  to  do 
my  duty,  and  you  won't  bluff  me  out  of  it." 

"I  have  no  wish  to  bluff  you.  When  I  spoke 
of  a  tragedy  I  did  not  mean  to  you.  What  I 
meant  was  that  there  are  some  turns  which  this 
affair  cannot  be  allowed  to  take.  I  have  neither 
kith  nor  kin,  but  there  is  the  family  honour,  and 
some  things  are  impossible." 

"It  is  late  to  talk  like  that." 

"Well,  perhaps  it  is;  but  not  too  late.  And 
now  I  have  a  good  deal  to  say  to  you.  First  of 
all,  you  are  quite  right,  and  it  was  I  who  held 
you  up  last  night  on  the  Mayfield  road." 

"But  why  on  earth " 

"All  right.  Let  me  tell  it  my  own  way.  First 
I  want  you  to  look  at  these."  He  unlocked  a 
drawer  and  he  took  out  two  small  packages. 
"These  were  to  be  posted  in  London  to-night. 
This  onje  is  addressed  to  you,  and  I  may  as  well 

[91] 


ONE    CROWDED    HOUR 


hand  it  over  to  you  at  once.  It  contains  your 
watch  and  your  purse.  So,  you  see,  bar  your  cut 
wire  you  would  have  been  none  the  worse  for 
your  adventure.  This  other  packet  is  addressed 
to  the  young  ladies  of  the  Gaiety  Theatre,  and 
their  properties  are  enclosed.  I  hope  I  have 
convinced  you  that  I  had  intended  full  reparation 
in  each  case  before  you  came  to  accuse  me?" 

"Well?"  asked  Barker. 

"Well,  we  will  now  deal  with  Sir  George 
Wilde,  who  is,  as  you  may  not  know,  the  senior 
partner  of  Wilde  and  Guggendorf,  the  founders 
of  the  Ludgate  Bank  of  infamous  memory.  His 
chauffeur  is  a  case  apart.  You  may  take  it 
from  me,  upon  my  word  of  honour,  that  I  had 
plans  for  the  chauffeur.  But  it  is  the  master 
that  I  want  to  speak  of.  You  know  that  I  am 
not  a  rich  man  myself.  I  expect  all  the  county 
knows  that.  When  Black  Tulip  lost  the  Derby 
I  was  hard  hit.  And  other  things  as  well.  Then 
I  had  a  legacy  of  a  thousand.  This  infernal  bank 
was  paying  7  per  cent,  on  deposits.  I  knew 
Wilde.  I  saw  him.  I  asked  him  if  it  was  safe. 
He  said  it  was.  I  paid  it  in,  and  within  forty- 
eight  hours  the  whole  thing  went  to  bits.  It  came 
[92] 


ONE   CROWDED    HOUB, 


out  before  the  Official  Receiver  that  Wilde  had 
known  for  three  months  that  nothing  could  save 
him.  And  yet  he  took  all  my  cargo  aboard  his 
sinking  vessel.  He  was  all  right — confound  him ! 
He  had  plenty  besides.  But  I  had  lost  all  my 
money  and  no  law  could  help  me.  Yet  he  had 
robbed  me  as  clearly  as  one  man  could  rob  an- 
other. I  saw  him  and  he  laughed  in  my  face. 
Told  me  to  stick  to  Consols,  and  that  the  lesson 
was  cheap  at  the  price.  So  I  just  swore  that, 
by  hook  or  by  crook,  I  would  get  level  with  him. 
I  knew  his  habits,  for  I  had  made  it  my  business 
to  do  so.  I  knew  that  he  came  back  from  East- 
bourne on  Sunday  nights.  I  knew  that  he  carried 
a  good  sum  with  him  in  his  pocket-book.  Well 
it's  my  pocket-book  now.  Do  you  mean  to  tell 
me  that  I'm  not  morally  justified  in  what  I  have 
done?  By  the  Lord,  I'd  have  left  the  devil  as 
bare  as  he  left  many  a  widow  and  orphan  if  I'd 
had  the  time!" 

"That's  all  very  well.  But  what  about  me? 
What  about  the  girls?" 

"Have  some  common  sense,  Barker.  Do  you 
suppose  that  I  could  go  and  stick  up  this  one 
personal  enemy  of  mine  and  escape  detection? 

[93] 


ONE   CROWDED   HOUR 


It  was  impossible.  I  was  bound  to  make  myself 
out  to  be  just  a  common  robber  who  had  run  up 
against  him  by  accident.  So  I  turned  myself 
loose  on  the  high  road  and  took  my  chance.  As 
the  devil  would  have  it,  the  first  man  I  met  was 
yourself.  I  was  a  fool  not  to  recognise  that  old 
ironmonger's  store  of  yours  by  the  row  it  made 
coming  up  the  hill.  When  I  saw  you  I  could 
hardly  speak  for  laughing.  But  I  was  bound  to 
carry  it  through.  The  same  with  the  actresses. 
I'm  afraid  I  gave  myself  away,  for  I  couldn't 
take  their  little  fal-lals,  but  I  had  to  keep  up  a 
show.  Then  came  my  man  himself.  There  was 
no  bluff  about  that.  I  was  out  to  skin  him,  and 
I  did.  Now,  Barker,  what  do  you  think  of  it  all? 
I  had  a  pistol  at  your  head  last  night,  and,  by 
George!  whether  you  believe  it  or  not,  you  have 
one  at  mine  this  morning!" 

The  young  man  rose  slowly,  and  with  a  broad 
smile  he  wrung  the  magistrate  by  the  hand. 

"Don't  do  it  again.  It's  too  risky,"  said  he. 
"The  swine  would  score  heavily  if  you  were 
taken." 

"You're  a  good  chap,  Barker,"  said  the  magis- 
trate. "No,  I  won't  do  it  again.  Who's  the 
[94] 


ONE   CROWDED    HOUR 


fellow  who  talks  of  'one  crowded  hour  of  glorious 
life'?  By  George!  it's  too  fascinating.  I  had 
the  time  of  my  life !  Talk  of  fox-hunting !  No, 
I'll  never  touch  it  again,  for  it  might  get  a  grip 
of  me." 

A  telephone  rang  sharply  upon  the  table,  and 
the  baronet  put  the  receiver  to  his  ear.  As  he 
listened  he  smiled  across  at  his  companion. 

"I'm  rather  late  this  morning,"  said  he,  "and 
they  are  waiting  for  me  to  try  some  petty  lar- 
cenies on  the  county  bench." 


[95] 


Ill 

A    POINT     OF     VIEW 


IT  was  an  American  journalist  who  was  writing 
up  England — or  writing  her  down  as  the 
mood  seized  him.  Sometimes  he  blamed  and 
sometimes  he  praised,  and  the  case-hardened  old 
country  actually  went  its  way  all  the  time  quite 
oblivious  of  his  approval  or  of  his  disfavour — 
being  ready  at  all  times,  through  some  queer  men- 
tal twist,  to  say  more  bitter  things  and  more 
unjust  ones  about  herself  than  any  critic  could 
ever  venture  upon.  However,  in  the  course  of 
his  many  columns  in  the  New  York  Clarion  our 
journalist  did  at  last  get  through  somebody's  skin 
in  the  way  that  is  here  narrated. 

It  was  a  kindly  enough  article  upon  English 
country-house  life  in  which  he  had  described  a 
visit  paid  for  a  week-end  to  Sir  Henry  Trustall's. 
[96] 


A    POINT   OF   VIEW 


There  was  only  a  single  critical  passage  in  it, 
and  it  was  one  which  he  had  written  with  a  sense 
both  of  journalistic  and  of  democratic  satisfac- 
tion. In  it  he  had  sketched  off  the  lofty  obse- 
quiousness of  the  flunkey  who  had  ministered  to 
his  needs.  "He  seemed  to  take  a  smug  satisfac- 
tion in  his  own  degradation,"  said  he.  "Surely 
the  last  spark  of  manhood  must  have  gone  from 
the  man  who  has  so  entirely  lost  his  own  individu- 
ality. He  revelled  in  humility.  He  was  an 
instrument  of  service — nothing  more." 

Some  months  had  passed  and  our  American 
Pressman  had  recorded  impressions  from  St. 
Petersburg  to  Madrid.  He  was  on  his  homeward 
way  when  once  again  he  found  himself  the  guest 
of  Sir  Henry.  He  had  returned  from  an  after- 
noon's shooting,  and  had  finished  dressing  when 
there  was  a  knock  at  the  door  and  the  footman 
entered.  He  was  a  large  cleanly-built  man,  as 
is  proper  to  a  class  who  are  chosen  with  a  keener 
eye  to  physique  than  any  crack  regiment.  The 
American  supposed  that  the  man  had  entered  to 
perform  some  menial  service,  but  to  his  surprise 
he  softly  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

"Might  I  have  a  word  with  you,  sir,  if  you  can 

[97] 


A   POINT   OF   VIEW 


kindly  give  me  a  moment?"  he  said  in  the  velvety 
voice  which  always  got  upon  the  visitor's  re- 
publican nerves. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  the  journalist  asked 
sharply. 

"It's  this,  sir."  The  footman  drew  from  his 
breast-pocket  the  copy  of  the  Clarion.  "A  friend 
over  the  water  chanced  to  see  this,  sir,  and  he 
thought  it  would  be  of  interest  to  me.  So  he  sent 
it." 

"Well?" 

"You  wrote  it,  sir,  I  fancy." 

"What  if  I  did?" 

"And  this  'ere  footman  is  your  idea  of  me?" 

The  American  glanced  at  the  passage  and 
approved  his  own  phrases. 

"Yes,  that's  you,"  he  admitted. 

The  footman  folded  up  his  document  once  more 
and  replaced  it  in  his  pocket. 

"I'd  like  to  'ave  a  word  or  two  with  you  over 
that,  sir,"  he  said  in  the  same  suave  imperturbable 
voice.  "I  don't  think,  sir,  that  you  quite  see 
the  thing  from  our  point  of  view.  I'd  like  to 
put  it  to  you  as  I  see  it  myself.  Maybe  it  would 
strike  you  different  then." 
[98] 


A    POINT   OF    VIEW 


The  American  became  interested.  There  was 
"copy"  in  the  air. 

"Sit  down,"  said  he. 

"No,  sir,  begging  your  pardon,  sir,  I'd  very 
much  rather  stand." 

"Well,  do  as  you  please.  If  you've  got  any- 
thing to  say,  get  ahead  with  it." 

"You  see,  sir,  it's  like  this :  There's  a  tradition 
— what  you  might  call  a  standard — among  the 
best  servants,  and  it's  'anded  down  from  one  to 
the  other.  When  I  joined  I  was  a  third,  and  my 
chief  and  the  butler  were  both  old  men  who  had 
been  trained  by  the  best.  I  took  after  them  just 
as  they  took  after  those  that  went  before  them. 
It  goes  back  away  further  than  you  can  tell." 

"I  can  understand  that." 

"But  what  perhaps  you  don't  so  well  under- 
stand, sir,  is  the  spirit  that's  lying  behind  it. 
There's  a  man's  own  private  self-respect  to  which 
you  allude,  sir,  in  this  'ere  article.  That's  his 
own.  But  he  can't  keep  it,  so  far  as  I  can  see, 
unless  he  returns  good  service  for  the  good  money 
that  he  takes." 

"Well,  he  can  do  that  without — without — 
crawling." 

[99] 


A   POINT  OF   VIEW 


The  footman's  florid  face  paled  a  little  at  the 
word.  Apparently  he  was  not  quite  the  auto- 
matic machine  that  he  appeared. 

"By  your  leave,  sir,  we'll  come  to  that  later," 
said  he.  "But  I  want  you  to  understand  what 
we  are  trying  to  do  even  when  you  don't  approve 
of  our  way  of  doing  it.  We  are  trying  to  make 
life  smooth  and  easy  for  our  master  and  for  our 
master's  guests.  We  do  it  in  the  way  that's 
been  'anded  down  to  us  as  the  best  way.  If  our 
master  could  suggest  any  better  way,  then  it 
would  be  our  place  either  to  leave  his  service  if 
we  disapproved  it,  or  else  to  try  and  do  it  as  he 
wanted.  It  would  hurt  the  self-respect  of  any 
good  servant  to  take  a  man's  money  and  not  give 
him  the  very  best  he  can  in  return  for  it." 

"Well,"  said  the  American,  "it's  not  quite  as 
we  see  it  in  America." 

"That's  right,  sir.  I  was  over  there  last  year 
with  Sir  Henry — in  New  York,  sir,  and  I  saw 
something  of  the  men-servants  and  their  ways. 
They  were  paid  for  service,  sir,  and  they  did  not 
give  what  they  were  paid  for.  You  talk  about 
self-respect,  sir,  in  this  article.  Well  now,  my 
[100] 


A    POINT   OF   VIEW 


self-respect  wouldn't  let  me  treat  a  master  as  I've 
seen  them  do  over  there." 

"We  don't  even  like  the  word  'master,' "  said 
the  American. 

"Well,  that's  neither  'ere  nor  there,  sir,  if  I 
may  be  so  bold  as  to  say  so.  If  you're  serving  a 
gentleman  he's  your  master  for  the  time  being 
and  any  name  you  may  choose  to  call  it  by  don't 
make  no  difference.  But  you  can't  eat  your 
cake  and  'ave  it,  sir.  You  can't  sell  your  inde- 
pendence and  'ave  it,  too." 

"May  be  not,"  said  the  American.  "All  the 
same,  the  fact  remains  that  your  manhood  is  the 
worse  for  it." 

"There  I  don't  'old  with  you,  sir." 

"If  it  were  not,  you  wouldn't  be  standing  there 
arguing  so  quietly.  You'd  speak  to  me  in  an- 
other tone,  I  guess." 

"You  must  remember,  sir,  that  you  are  my 
master's  guest,  and  that  I  am  paid  to  wait  upon 
you  and  make  your  visit  a  pleasant  one.  So  long 
as  you  are  'ere,  sir,  that  is  'ow  I  regard  it.  Now 
in  London — 

"Well,  what  about  London?" 

"Well,  in  London  if  you  would  have  the  good- 

[101] 


A   POINT  OF  VIEW 


ness  to  let  me  have  a  word  with  you,  I  could  make 
you  understand  a  little  clearer  what  I  am  trying 
to  explain  to  you.  'Arding  is  my  name,  sir.  If 
you  get  a  call  from  'Enery  'Arding,  you'll  know 
that  I  'ave  a  word  to  say  to  you." 

So  it  happened  about  three  days  later  that  our 
American  journalist  in  his  London  hotel  received 
a  letter  that  a  Mr.  Henry  Harding  desired  to 
speak  with  him.  The  man  was  waiting  in  the  hall 
dressed  in  quiet  tweeds.  He  had  cast  his  man- 
ner with  his  uniform  and  was  firmly  deliberate 
in  all  he  said  and  did.  The  professional  silkiness 
was  gone,  and  his  bearing  was  all  that  the  most 
democratic  could  desire. 

"It's  courteous  of  you  to  see  me,  sir,"  said  he. 
"There's  that  matter  of  the  article  still  open  be- 
tween us,  and  I  would  like  to  have  a  word  or  two 
more  about  it." 

"Well,  I  can  give  you  just  ten  minutes,"  said 
the  American  journalist. 

"I  understand  that  you  are  a  busy  man,  sir, 
so  I'll  cut  it  as  short  as  I  can.     There's  a  public 
garden  opposite  if  you  would  be  so  good  as  to 
talk  it  over  in  the  open  air." 
[102] 


A    POINT   OF   VIEW 


The  Pressman  took  his  hat  and  accompanied 
the  footman.  They  walked  together  down  the 
winding  gravelled  path  among  the  rhododendron 
bushes. 

"It's  like  this,  sir,"  said  the  footman,  halting 
when  they  had  arrived  at  a  quiet  nook.  "I  was 
hoping  that  you  would  see  it  in  our  light  and 
understand  me  when  I  told  you  that  the  servant 
who  was  trying  to  give  honest  service  for  his 
master's  money,  and  the  man  who  is  free  born  and 
as  good  as  his  neighbour  are  two  separate  folk. 
There's  the  duty  man  and  there's  the  natural 
man,  and  they  are  different  men.  To  say  that  I 
have  no  life  of  my  own,  or  self-respect  of  my  own, 
because  there  are  days  when  I  give  myself  to  the 
service  of  another,  is  not  fair  treatment.  I  was 
hoping,  sir,  that  when  I  made  this  clear  to  you, 
you  would  have  met  me  like  a  man  and  taken  it 
back." 

"Well,  you  have  not  convinced  me,"  said  the 
American.  "A  man's  a  man,  and  he's  responsible 
for  all  his  actions." 

"Then  you  won't  take  back  what  you  said  of 
me — the  degradation  and  the  rest?" 

"No,  I  don't  see  why  I  should." 

[103] 


A    POINT   OF   VIEW 


The  man's  comely  face  darkened. 

"You  will  take  it  back,"  said  he.  "I'll  smash 
your  blasted  head  if  you  don't." 

The  American  was  suddenly  aware  that  he  was 
in  the  presence  of  a  very  ugly  proposition.  The 
man  was  large,  strong,  and  evidently  most  earnest 
and  determined.  His  brows  were  knotted,  his 
eyes  flashing,  and  his  fists  clenched.  On  neutral 
ground  he  struck  the  journalist  as  realty  being  a 
very  different  person  to  the  obsequious  and  silken 
footman  of  Trustall  Old  Manor.  The  American 
had  all  the  courage,  both  of  his  race  and  of  his 
profession,  but  he  realised  suddenly  that  he  was 
very  much  in  the  wrong.  He  was  man  enough  to 
say  so. 

"Well,  sir,  this  once,"  said  the  footman,  as  they 
shook  hands.  "I  don't  approve  of  the  mixin'  of 
classes — none  of  the  best  servants  do.  But  I'm 
on  my  own  to-day,  so  we'll  let  it  pass.  But  I 
wish  you'd  set  it  right  with  your  people,  sir.  I 
wish  you  would  make  them  understand  that  an 
English  servant  can  give  good  and  proper  service 
and  yet  that  he's  a  human  bein'  after  all." 


[104] 


IV 

THE  FALL  OF  LORD 
BARRYMORE 


fTVHERE  are  few  social  historians  of  those 
A  days  who  have  not  told  of  the  long  and 
fierce  struggle  between  those  two  famous  bucks, 
Sir  Charles  Tregellis  and  Lord  B anymore,  for 
the  Lordship  of  the  Kingdom  of  St.  James,  a 
struggle  which  divided  the  whole  of  fashionable 
London  into  two  opposing  camps.  It  has  been 
chronicled  also  how  the  peer  retired  suddenly  and 
the  commoner  resumed  his  great  career  without  a 
rival.  Only  here,  however,  one  can  read  the  real 
and  remarkable  reason  for  this  sudden  eclipse  of 
a  star. 

It  was  one  morning  in  the  days  of  this  famous 
struggle  that  Sir  Charles  Tregellis  was  perform- 
ing his  very  complicated  toilet,  and  Ambrose, 

[105] 


THE   FALL   OF   LORD    BARRYMORE 

his  valet,  was  helping  him  to  attain  that  pitch  of 
perfection  which  had  long  gained  him  the  reputa- 
tion of  being  the  best-dressed  man  in  town.  Sud- 
denly Sir  Charles  paused,  his  coup  d'archet  half- 
executed,  the  final  beauty  of  his  neck-cloth  half- 
achieved,  while  he  listened  with  surprise  and  in- 
dignation upon  his  large,  comely,  fresh-complex- 
ioned  face.  Below,  the  decorous  hum  of  Jermyn 
Street  had  been  broken  by  the  sharp,  staccato, 
metallic  beating  of  a  door-knocker. 

"I  begin  to  think  that  this  uproar  must  be  at 
our  door,"  said  Sir  Charles,  as  one  who  thinks 
aloud.  "For  five  minutes  it  has  come  and  gone ; 
yet  Perkins  has  his  orders." 

At  a  gesture  from  his  master  Ambrose  stepped 
out  upon  the  balcony  and  craned  his  discreet  head 
over  it.  From  the  street  below  came  a  voice, 
drawling  but  clear. 

"You  would  oblige  me  vastly,  fellow,  if  you 
would  do  me  the  favour  to  open  this  door,"  said 
the  voice. 

"Who  is  it  ?  What  is  it  ?"  asked  the  scandalised 
Sir  Charles,  with  his  arrested  elbow  still  pointing 
upwards. 

Ambrose  had  returned  with  as  much  surprise 
[106] 


THE   FALL   OF   LORD   BARRYMORE 

upon  his  dark  face  as  the  etiquette  of  his  position 
would  allow  him  to  show. 

"It  is  a  young  gentleman,  Sir  Charles." 

"A  young  gentleman?  There  is  no  one  in 
London  who  is  not  aware  that  I  do  not  show 
before  midday.  Do  you  know  the  person?  Have 
you  seen  him  before?" 

"I  have  not  seen  him,  sir,  but  he  is  very  like 
some  one  I  could  name." 

"Like  some  one  ?    Like  whom  ?" 

"With  all  respect,  Sir  Charles,  I  could  for  a 
moment  have  believed  that  it  was  yourself  when 
I  looked  down.  A  smaller  man,  sir,  and  a  youth ; 
but  the  voice,  the  face,  the  bearing — 

"It  must  be  that  young  cub  Vereker,  my 
brother's  ne'er-do-weel,"  muttered  Sir  Charles, 
continuing  his  toilet.  "I  have  heard  that  there 
are  points  in  which  he  resembles  me.  He  wrote 
from  Oxford  that  he  would  come,  and  I  answered 
that  I  would  not  see  him.  Yet  he  ventures  to 
insist.  The  fellow  needs  a  lesson!  Ambrose, 
ring  for  Perkins." 

A  large  footman  entered  with  an  outraged 
expression  upon  his  face. 

[107] 


THE   FALL   OF   LORD   BARRYMORE 

"I  cannot  have  this  uproar  at  the  door,  Per- 
kins!" 

"If  you  please,  the  young  gentleman  won't  go 
away,  sir." 

"Won't  go  away?  It  is  your  duty  to  see  that 
he  goes  away.  Have  you  not  your  orders  ?  Didn't 
you  tell  him  that  I  am  not  seen  before  midday?" 

"I  said  so,  sir.  He  would  have  pushed  his  way 
in,  for  all  I  could  say,  so  I  slammed  the  door  in 
his  face." 

"Very  right,  Perkins." 

"But  now,  sir,  he  is  making  such  a  din  that  all 
the  folk  are  at  the  windows.  There  is  a  crowd 
gathering  in  the  street,  sir." 

From  below  came  the  crack-crack-crack  of  the 
knocker,  ever  rising  in  insistence,  with  a  chorus 
of  laughter  and  encouraging  comments  from  the 
spectators.  Sir  Charles  flushed  with  anger. 
There  must  be  some  limit  to  such  impertinence. 

"My  clouded  amber  cane  is  in  the  corner,"  said 
he.  "Take  it  with  you,  Perkins.  I  give  you  a 
free  hand.  A  stripe  or  two  may  bring  the  young 
rascal  to  reason." 

The  large  Perkins  smiled  and  departed.  The 
door  was  heard  to  open  below  and  the  knocker 
[108] 


THE   FALL   OF    LORD   BARRYMORE 

was  at  rest.  A  few  moments  later  there  followed 
a  prolonged  howl  and  a  noise  as  of  a  beaten 
carpet.  Sir  Charles  listened  with  a  smile  which 
gradually  faded  from  his  good-humoured  face. 

"The  fellow  must  not  overdo  it,"  he  muttered. 
"I  would  not  do  the  lad  an  injury,  whatever  his 
deserts  may  be.  Ambrose,  run  out  on  the  balcony 
and  call  him  off.  This  has  gone  far  enough." 

But  before  the  valet  could  move  there  came  the 
swift  patter  of  agile  feet  upon  the  stairs,  and  a 
handsome  youth,  dressed  in  the  height  of  fashion, 
was  standing  framed  in  the  open  doorway.  The 
pose,  the  face,  above  all  the  curious,  mischievous, 
dancing  light  in  the  large  blue  eyes,  all  spoke 
of  the  famous  Tregellis  blood.  Even  such  was 
Sir  Charles  when,  twenty  years  before,  he  had,  by 
virtue  of  his  spirit  and  audacity,  in  one  short 
season  taken  a  place  in  London  from  which 
Brummell  himself  had  afterwards  vainly  strug- 
gled to  depose  him.  The  youth  faced  the  angry 
features  of  his  uncle  with  an  air  of  debonair 
amusement,  and  he  held  towards  him,  upon  his 
outstretched  palms,  the  broken  fragments  of  an 
amber  cane. 

"I  much  fear,  sir,"  said  he,  "that  in  correcting 

[109] 


THE   FALL   OF   LORD   BARRYMORE 

your  fellow  I  have  had  the  misfortune  to  injure 
what  can  only  have  been  your  property.  I  am 
vastly  concerned  that  it  should  have  occurred." 

Sir  Charles  stared  with  intolerant  eyes  at  this 
impertinent  apparition.  The  other  looked  back 
in  a  laughable  parody  of  his  senior's  manner.  As 
Ambrose  had  remarked  after  his  inspection'  from 
the  balcony,  the  two  were  very  alike,  save  that 
the  younger  was  smaller,  finer  cut,  and  the  more 
nervously  alive  of  the  two. 

"You  are  my  nephew,  Vereker  Tregellis?" 
asked  Sir  Charles. 

"Yours  to  command,  sir." 

"I  hear  bad  reports  of  you  from  Oxford." 

"Yes,  sir,  I  understand  that  the  reports  are 
bad." 

"Nothing  could  be  worse." 

"So  I  have  been  told." 

"Why  are  you  here,  sir?" 

"That  I  might  see  my  famous  uncle." 

"So  you  made  a  tumult  in  his  street,  forced  his 
door,  and  beat  his  footman?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"You  had  my  letter?" 

"Yes,  sir." 
[110] 


THE   FALL   OF   LOKD   BARRYMORE 

"You  were  told  that  I  was  not  receiving?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

'I  can  remember  no  such  exhibition  of  im- 
pertinence." 

The  young  man  smiled  and  rubbed  his  hands  in 
satisfaction. 

"There  is  an  impertinence  which  is  redeemed  by 
wit,"  said  Sir  Charles,  severely.  "There  is  an- 
other which  is  the  mere  boorishness  of  the  clod- 
hopper. As  you  grow  older  and  wiser  you  may 
discern  the  difference." 

"You  are  very  right,  sir,"  said  the  young  man, 
warmly.  "The  finer  shades  of  impertinence  are 
infinitely  subtle,  and  only  experience  and  the 
society  of  one  who  is  a  recognised  master" — here 
he  bowed  to  his  uncle — "can  enable  one  to  excel." 

Sir  Charles  was  notoriously  touchy  in  temper 
for  the  first  hour  after  his  morning  chocolate.  He 
allowed  himself  to  show  it. 

"I  cannot  congratulate  my  brother  upon  his 
son,"  said  he.  "I  had  hoped  for  something  more 
worthy  of  our  traditions." 

"Perhaps,  sir,  upon  a  longer  acquaint- 
ance  " 

"The  chance  is  too  small  to  justify  the  very 


THE   FALL   OF   LORD   BARRYMORE 

irksome  experience.  I  must  ask  you,  sir,  to  bring 
to  a  close  a  visit  which  never  should  have  been 
made." 

The  young  man  smiled  affably,  but  gave  no 
sign  of  departure. 

"May  I  ask,  sir,"  said  he,  in  an  easy  conversa- 
tional fashion,  "whether  you  can  recall  Principal 
Munro,  of  my  college?" 

"No,  sir,  I  cannot,"  his  uncle  answered, 
sharply. 

"Naturally  you  would  not  burden  your 
memory  to  such  an  extent,  but  he  still  remembers 
you.  In  some  conversation  with  him  yesterday 
he  did  me  the  honour  to  say  that  I  brought  you 
back  to  his  recollection  by  what  he  was  pleased 
to  call  the  mingled  levity  and  obstinacy  of  my 
character.  The  levity  seems  to  have  already 
impressed  you.  I  am  now  reduced  to  showing 
you  the  obstinacy."  He  sat  down  in  a  chair 
near  the  door  and  folded  his  arms,  still  beaming 
pleasantly  at  his  uncle. 

"Oh,  you  won't  go?"  asked  Sir  Charles,  grimly. 

"No,  sir;  I  will  stay." 

"Ambrose,  step  down  and  call  a  couple  of 
chairmen." 
[112] 


THE   FALL   OF   LORD   BARRYMORE 

"I  should  not  advise  it,  sir.  They  will  be 
hurt." 

"I  will  put  you  out  with  my  own  hands." 

"That,  sir,  you  can  always  do.  As  my  uncle, 
I  could  scarce  resist  you.  But,  short  of  throwing 
me  down  the  stair,  I  do  not  see  how  you  can  avoid 
giving  me  half  an  hour  of  your  attention." 

Sir  Charles  smiled.  He  could  not  help  it. 
There  was  so  much  that  was  reminiscent  of  his 
own  arrogant  and  eventful  youth  in  the  bearing 
of  this  youngster.  He  was  mollified,  too,  by  the 
defiance  of  menials  and  quick  submission  to  him- 
self. He  turned  to  the  glass  and  signed  to 
Ambrose  to  continue  his  duties. 

"I  must  ask  you  to  await  the  conclusion  of  my 
toilet,"  said  he.  "Then  we  shall  see  how  far  you 
can  justify  such  an  intrusion." 

When  the  valet  had  at  last  left  the  room  Sir 
Charles  turned  his  attention  once  more  to  his 
scapegrace  nephew,  who  had  viewed  the  details  of 
the  famous  buck's  toilet  with  the  face  of  an  aco- 
lyte assisting  at  a  mystery. 

"Now,  sir,"  said  the  older  man,  "speak,  and 
speak  to  the  point,  for  I  can  assure  you  that  I 
have  many  more  important  matters  which  claim 

[113] 


THE   FALL   OF   LORD    BARRYMORE 

my  attention.  The  Prince  is  waiting  for  me  at 
the  present  instant  at  Carlton  House.  Be  as 
brief  as  you  can.  What  is  it  that  you  want?" 

"A  thousand  pounds." 

"Really!  Nothing  more?"  Sir  Charles  had 
turned  acid  again. 

"Yes,  sir;  an  introduction  to  Mr.  Brinsley 
Sheridan,  whom  I  know  to  be  your  friend." 

"And  why  to  him?" 

"Because  I  am  told  that  he  controls  Drury 
Lane  Theatre,  and  I  have  a  fancy  to  be  an  actor. 
My  friends  assure  me  that  I  have  a  pretty  talent 
that  way." 

"I  can  see  you  clearly,  sir,  in  Charles  Surface, 
or  any  other  part  where  -a  foppish  insolence  is 
the  essential.  The  less  you  acted,  the  better  you 
would  be.  But  it  is  absurd  to  suppose  that  I 
could  help  you  to  such  a  career.  I  could  not 
justify  it  to  your  father.  Return  to  Oxford  at 
once,  and  continue  your  studies." 

"Impossible!" 

"And  pray,  sir,  what  is  the  impediment?" 

"I  think  I  may  have  mentioned  to  you  that  I 
had  an  interview  yesterday  with  the  Principal. 
[114] 


THE    FALL   OF   LORD   BARRYMOEE 

He  ended  it  by  remarking  that  the  authorities 
of  the  University  could  tolerate  me  no  more." 

"Sent  down?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  this  is  the  fruit,  no  doubt,  of  a  long 
series  of  rascalities." 

"Something  of  the  sort,  sir,  I  admit." 

In  spite  of  himself,  Sir  Charles  began  once 
more  to  relax  in  his  severity  towards  this  hand- 
some young  scapegrace.  His  absolute  frankness 
disarmed  criticism.  It  was  in  a  more  gracious 
voice  that  the  older  man  continued  the  conver- 
sation. 

"Why  do  you  want  this  large  sum  of  money?" 
he  asked. 

"To  pay  my  college  debts  before  I  go,  sir." 

"Your  father  is  not  a  rich  man." 

"No,  sir.  I  could  not  apply  to  him  for  that 
reason." 

"So  you  come  to  me,  who  am  a  stranger  1" 

"No,  sir,  no!  You  are  my  uncle,  and,  if  I 
may  say  so,  my  ideal  and  my  model." 

"You  flatter  me,  my  good  Vereker.  But  if 
you  think  you  can  flatter  me  out  of  a  thousand 

[115] 


THE   FALL   OF   LORD   BARRYMORE 

pounds,  you  mistake  your  man.     I  will  give  you 
no  money." 

"Of  course,  sir,  if  you  can't 

"I  did  not  say  I  can't.     I  say  I  won't." 

"If  you  can,  sir,  I  think  you  will." 

Sir  Charles  smiled,  and  flicked  his  sleeve  with 
his  lace  handkerchief. 

"I  find  you  vastly  entertaining,"  said  he. 
"Pray  continue  your  conversation.  Why  do  you 
think  that  I  will  give  you  so  large  a  sum  of 
money?" 

"The  reason  that  I  think  so,"  continued  the 
younger  man,  "is  that  I  can  do  you  a  service 
which  will  seem  to  you  worth  a  thousand  pounds." 

Sir  Charles  raised  his  eyebrows  in  surprise. 

"Is  this  blackmail?"  he  inquired. 

Vereker  Tregellis  flushed.  "Sir,"  said  he,  with 
a  pleasing  sternness,  "you  surprise  me.  You 
should  know  the  blood  of  which  I  come  too  well 
to  suppose  that  I  would  attempt  such  a  thing." 

"I  am  relieved  to  hear  that  there  are  limits  to 
what  you  consider  to  be  justifiable.  I  must  con- 
fess that  I  had  seen  none  in  your  conduct  up  to 
now.  But  you  say  that  you  can  do  me  a  service 
which  will  be  worth  a  thousand  pounds  to  me?" 
[116] 


THE   FALL   OF   LORD   BARRYMORE 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  pray,  sir,  what  may  this  service  be?" 

"To  make  Lord  Barrymore  the  laughing-stock 
of  the  town." 

Sir  Charles,  in  spite  of  himself,  lost  for  an 
instant  the  absolute  serenity  of  his  self-control. 
He  started,  and  his  face  expressed  his  surprise. 
By  what  devilish  instinct  did  this  raw  under- 
graduate find  the  one  chink  in  his  armour?  Deep 
in  his  heart,  unacknowledged  to  any  one,  there 
was  the  will  to  pay  many  a  thousand  pounds  to 
the  man  who  would  bring  ridicule  upon  this  his 
most  dangerous  rival,  who  was  challenging  his 
supremacy  in  fashionable  London. 

"Did  you  come  from  Oxford  with  this  precious 
project?"  he  asked,  after  a  pause. 

"No,  sir.  I  chanced  to  see  the  man  himself 
last  night,  and  I  conceived  an  ill-will  to  him,  and 
would  do  him  a  mischief." 

"Where  did  you  see  him?" 

"I  spent  the  evening,  sir,  at  the  Vauxhall 
Gardens." 

"No  doubt  you  would,"  interpolated  his  uncle. 

"My  Lord  Barrymore  was  there.  He  was 
attended  by  one  who  was  dressed  as  a  clergyman, 

[117] 


THE   FALL   OF   LORD   BARRYMORE 

but  who  was,  as  I  am  told,  none  other  than 
Hooper  the  Tinman,  who  acts  as  his  bully  and 
thrashes  all  who  may  offend  him.  Together 
they  passed  down  the  central  path,  insulting  the 
women  and  browbeating  the  men.  They  actually 
hustled  me.  I  was  offended,  sir,  so  much  so  that 
I  nearly  took  the  matter  in  hand  then  and  there." 

"It  is  as  well  that  you  did  not.  The  prize- 
fighter would  have  beaten  you." 

"Perhaps  so,  sir — and  also,  perhaps  not." 

"Ah,  you  add  pugilism  to  your  elegant  accom- 
plishments?" 

The  young  man  laughed  pleasantly. 

"William  Ball  is  the  only  professor  of  my  Alma 
Mater  who  has  ever  had  occasion  to  compliment 
me,  sir.  He  is  better  known  as  the  Oxford  Pet. 
I  think,  with  all  modesty,  that  I  could  hold  him 
for  a  dozen  rounds.  But  last  night  I  suffered 
the  annoyance  without  protest,  for  since  it  is  said 
that  the  same  scene  is  enacted  every  evening, 
there  is  always  time  to  act." 

"And  how  would  you  act,  may  I  ask?" 

"That,  sir,  I  should  prefer  to  keep  to  myself; 
but  my  aim,  as  I  say,  would  be  to  make  Lord 
Barrymore  a  laughing-stock  to  all  London." 
[118] 


THE   FALL   OF   LORD   BARRYMORE 

Sir  Charles  cogitated  for  a  moment. 

"Pray,  sir,"  said  he,  "why  did  you  imagine  that 
any  humiliation  to  Lord  Barrymore  would  be 
pleasing  to  me?" 

"Even  in  the  provinces  we  know  something  of 
what  passes  in  polite  circles.  Your  antagonism 
to  this  man  is  to  be  found  in  every  column  of 
fashionable  gossip.  The  town  is  divided  between 
you.  It  is  impossible  that  any  public  slight  upon 
him  should  be  unpleasing  to  you." 

Sir  Charles  smiled. 

"You  are  a  shrewd  reasoner,"  said  he.  "We 
will  suppose  for  the  instant  that  you  are  right. 
Can  you  give  me  no  hint  what  means  you  would 
adopt  to  attain  this  very  desirable  end?" 

"I  would  merely  make  the  remark,  sir,  that 
many  women  have  been  wronged  by  this  fellow. 
That  is  a  matter  of  common  knowledge.  If  one 
of  these  damsels  were  to  upbraid  him  in  public  in 
such  a  fashion  that  the  sympathy  of  the  by- 
standers should  be  with  her,  then  I  can  imagine, 
if  she  were  sufficiently  persistent,  that  his  lord- 
ship's position  might  become  an  unenviable  one." 

"And  you  know  such  a  woman?" 

"I  think,  sir,  that  I  do." 

[119] 


THE   FALL   OF   LORD   BARRYMORE 

"Well,  my  good  Vereker,  if  any  such  attempt 
is  in  your  mind,  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should 
stand  between  Lord  Barrymore  and  the  angry 
fair.  As  to  whether  the  result  is  worth  a  thou- 
sand pounds,  I  can  make  no  promise." 

"You  shall  yourself  be  the  judge,  sir." 

"I  will  be  an  exacting  judge,  nephew." 

"Very  good,  sir;  I  should  not  desire  otherwise. 
If  things  go  as  I  hope,  his  lordship  will  not  show 
face  in  St.  James's  Street  for  a  year  to  come.  I 
will  now,  if  I  may,  give  you  your  instructions." 

"My  instructions!  What  do  you  mean?  I 
have  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter." 

"You  are  the  judge,  sir,  and  therefore  must  be 
present." 

"I  can  play  no  part." 

"No,  sir.  I  would  not  ask  you  to  do  more 
than  be  a  witness." 

"What,  then,  are  my  instructions,  as  you  are 
pleased  to  call  them?" 

"You  will  come  to  the  Gardens  to-night,  uncle, 

at  nine  o'clock  precisely.     You  will  walk  down 

the  centre  path,  and  you  will  seat  yourself  upon 

one  of  the  rustic  seats  which  are  beside  the  statue 

[120] 


THE   FALL   OF   LORD    BARRYMORE 

of  Aphrodite.     You  will  wait  and  you  will  ob- 
serve." 

"Very  good;  I  will  do  so.  I  begin  to  perceive, 
nephew,  that  the  breed  of  Tregellis  has  not  yet 
lost  some  of  the  points  which  have  made  it 
famous." 

It  was  at  the  stroke  of  nine  that  night  when  Sir 
Charles,  throwing  his  reins  to  the  groom,  de- 
scended from  his  high  yellow  phaeton,  which 
forthwith  turned  to  take  its  place  in  the  long  line 
of  fashionable  carriages  waiting  for  their  owners. 
As  he  entered  the  gate  of  the  Gardens,  the  centre 
at  that  time  of  the  dissipation  and  revelry  of 
London,  he  turned  up  the  collar  of  his  driving- 
cape  and  drew  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  for  he  had  no 
desire  to  be  personally  associated  with  what  might 
well  prove  to  be  a  public  scandal.  In  spite  of 
his  attempted  disguise,  however,  there  was  that 
in  his  walk  and  his  carriage  which  caused  many 
an  eye  to  be  turned  after  him  as  he  passed  and 
many  a  hand  to  be  raised  in  salute.  Sir  Charles 
walked  on,  and,  seating  himself  upon  the  rustic 
bench  in  front  of  the  famous  statue,  which  was 
in  the  very  middle  of  the  Gardens,  he  waited  in 

[121] 


THE   FALL   OF   LORD    BARRYMORE 

aanused  suspense  to  see  the  next  act  in  this 
comedy. 

From  the  pavilion,  whence  the  paths  radiated, 
there  came  the  strains  of  the  band  of  the  Foot 
Guards,  and  by  the  many-coloured  lamps  twink- 
ling from  every  tree  Sir  Charles  could  see  the 
confused  whirl  of  the  dancers.  Suddenly  the 
music  stopped.  The  quadrilles  were  at  an  end. 

An  instant  afterwards  the  central  path  by 
which  he  sat  was  thronged  by  the  revellers.  In 
a  many-coloured  crowd,  stocked  and  cravated 
with  all  the  bravery  of  buff  and  plum-colour  and 
blue,  the  bucks  of  the  town  passed  and  repassed 
with  their  high-waisted,  straight-skirted,  be-bon- 
neted  ladies  upon  their  arms. 

It  was  not  a  decorous  assembly.  Many  of  the 
men,  flushed  and  noisy,  had  come  straight  from 
their  potations.  The  women,  too,  were  loud  and 
aggressive.  Now  and  then,  with  a  rush  and  a 
swirl,  amid  a  chorus  of  screams  from  the  girls  and 
good-humoured  laughter  from  their  escorts,  some 
band  of  high-blooded,  noisy  youths  would  break 
their  way  across  the  moving  throng.  It  was  no 
place  for  the  prim  or  demure,  and  there  was  a 
spirit  of  good-nature  and  merriment  among 
[122] 


THE   FALL   OF   LORD    BARRYMORE 

the  crowd  which  condoned  the  wildest  liberty. 

And  yet  there  were  some  limits  to  what  could 
be  tolerated  even  by  so  Bohemian  an  assembly. 
A  murmur  of  anger  followed  in  the  wake  of  two 
roisterers  who  were  making  their  way  down  the 
path.  It  would,  perhaps,  be  fairer  to  say  one 
roisterer;  for  of  the  two  it  was  only  the  first  who 
carried  himself  with  such  insolence,  although  it 
was  the  second  who  ensured  that  he  could  do  it 
with  impunity. 

The  leader  was  a  very  tall,  hatchet-faced  man, 
dressed  in  the  very  height  of  fashion,  whose  evil, 
handsome  features  were  flushed  with  wine  and 
arrogance.  He  shouldered  his  way  roughly 
through  the  crowd,  peering  with  an  abominable 
smile  into  the  faces  of  the  women,  and  occasion- 
ally, where  the  weakness  of  the  escort  invited  an 
insult,  stretching  out  his  hand  and  caressing  the 
cheek  or  neck  of  some  passing  girl,  laughing  loud- 
ly as  she  winced  away  from  his  touch. 

Close  at  his  heels  walked  his  hired  attendant, 
whom,  out  of  insolent  caprice  and  with  a  desire 
to  show  his  contempt  for  the  prejudices  of  others, 
he  had  dressed  as  a  rough  country  clergyman. 
This  fellow  slouched  along  with  frowning  brows 

[123] 


THE   FALL   OF   LORD    BARRYMORE 

and  surly,  challenging  eyes,  like  some  faithful, 
hideous  human  bulldog,  his  knotted  hands  pro- 
truding from  his  rusty  cassock,  his  great  under- 
hung jaw  turning  slowly  from  right  to  left  as  he 
menaced  the  crowd  with  his  sinister  gaze.  Already 
a  close  observer  might  have  marked  upon  his  face 
a  heaviness  and  looseness  of  feature,  the  first  signs 
of  that  physical  decay  which  in  a  very  few  years 
was  to  stretch  him,  a  helpless  wreck,  too  weak  to 
utter  his  own  name,  upon  the  causeway  of  the 
London  streets.  At  present,  however,  he  was 
still  an  unbeaten  man,  the  terror  of  the  Ring,  and 
as  his  ill-omened  face  was  seen  behind  his  in- 
famous master  many  a  half-raised  cane  was  low- 
ered and  many  a  hot  word  was  checked,  while 
the  whisper  of  "Hooper !  'Ware  Bully  Hooper  I" 
warned  all  who  were  aggrieved  that  it  might  be 
best  to  pocket  their  injuries  lest  some  even  worse 
thing  should  befall  them.  Many  a  maimed  and 
disfigured  man  had  carried  away  from  Vauxhall 
the  handiwork  of  the  Tinman  and  his  patron. 

Moving  in  insolent  slowness  through  the  crowd, 

the  bully  and  his  master  had  just  come  opposite 

to  the  bench  upon  which  sat  Sir  Charles  Tregellis. 

At  this  place  the  path  opened  up  into  a  circular 

[12*] 


THE   FALL   OF   LORD   BABRYMORE 

space,  brilliantly  illuminated  and  surrounded  by 
rustic  seats.  From  one  of  these  an  elderly,  ring- 
leted woman,  deeply  veiled,  rose  suddenly  and 
barred  the  path  of  the  swaggering  nobleman. 
Her  voice  sounded  clear  and  strident  above  the 
babel  of  tongues,  which  hushed  suddenly  that 
their  owners  might  hear  it. 

"Marry  her,  my  lord !  I  entreat  you  to  marry 
her!  Oh,  surely  you  will  marry  my  poor 
Amelia!"  said  the  voice. 

Lord  Barrymore  stood  aghast.  From  all  sides 
folk  were  closing  in  and  heads  were  peering  over 
shoulders.  He  tried  to  push  on,  but  the  lady 
barred  his  way  and  two  palms  pressed  upon  his 
beruffled  front. 

"Surely,  surely  you  would  not  desert  her!  Take 
the  advice  of  that  good,  kind  clergyman  behind 
you !"  wailed  the  voice.  "Oh,  be  a  man  of  honour 
and  marry  her!" 

The  elderly  lady  thrust  out  her  hand  and  drew 
forward  a  lumpish-looking  young  woman,  who 
sobbed  and  mopped  her  eyes  with  her  handker- 
chief. 

"The  plague  take  you!"  roared  his  lordship, 
in  a  fury.  "Who  is  the  wench?  I  vow  that  I 

[125] 


THE   FALL   OF   LORD    BARRYMORE 

never  clapped  eyes  on  either  of  you  in  my  life  1" 

"It  is  my  niece  Amelia,"  cried  the  lady,  "your 
own  loving  Amelia!  Oh,  my  lord,  can  you  pre- 
tend that  you  have  forgotten  poor,  trusting  Ame- 
lia, of  Woodbine  Cottage  at  Lichfield?" 

"I  never  set  foot  in  Lichfield  in  my  life!"  cried 
the  peer.  "You  are  two  imposters  who  should 
be  whipped  at  the  cart's  tail." 

"Oh,  wicked !  Oh,  Amelia !"  screamed  the  lady, 
in  a  voice  that  resounded  through  the  Gardens. 
"Oh,  my  darling,  try  to  soften  his  hard  heart; 
pray  him  that  he  make  an  honest  woman  of  you 
at  last." 

With  a  lurch  the  stout  young  woman  fell  for- 
ward and  embraced  Lord  Barrymore  with  the  hug 
of  a  bear.  He  would  have  raised  his  cane,  but 
his  arms  were  pinned  to  his  sides. 

"Hooper!  Hooper!"  screamed  the  furious 
peer,  craning  his  neck  in  horror,  for  the  girl 
seemed  to  be  trying  to  kiss  him. 

But  the  bruiser,  as  he  ran  forward,  found 
himself  entangled  with  the  old  lady. 

"Out  o'  the  way,  marm!"  he  cried.  "Out  o' 
the  way,  I  say!"  and  pushed  her  violently  aside. 

"Oh,  you  rude,  rude  man!"  she  shrieked, 
[126] 


THE   FALL   OF  LORD   BARRYMORE 

springing  back  in  front  of  him.  "He  hustled 
me,  good  people;  you  saw  him  hustle  me!  A 
clergyman,  but  no  gentleman!  What!  you 
would  treat  a  lady  so — you  would  do  it  again? 
Oh,  I  could  slap,  slap,  slap  you!" 

And  with  each  repetition  of  the  word,  with 
extraordinary  swiftness,  her  open  palm  rang  up- 
on the  prizefighter's  cheek. 

The  crowd  buzzed  with  amazement  and  delight. 

"Hooper!  Hooper!"  cried  Lord  Barrymore 
once  more,  for  he  was  still  struggling  in  the  ever- 
closer  embrace  of  the  unwieldy  and  amorous 
Amelia. 

The  bully  again  pushed  forward  to  the  aid  of 
his  patron,  but  again  the  elderly  lady  confronted 
him,  her  head  back,  her  left  arm  extended,  her 
whole  attitude,  to  his  amazement,  that  of  an 
expert  boxer. 

The  prizefighter's  brutal  nature  was  roused. 
Woman  or  no  woman,  he  would  show  the  mur- 
muring crowd  what  it  meant  to  cross  the  path  of 
the  Tinman.  She  had  struck  him.  She  must 
take  the  consequence.  No  one  should  square  up 
to  him  with  impunity.  He  swung  his  right  with 
a  curse.  The  bonnet  instantly  ducked  under  his 

[127] 


THE   FALL   OF   LORD    BARRYMORE 

arm,  and  a  line  of  razor-like  knuckles  left  an  open 
cut  under  his  eye. 

Amid  wild  cries  of  delight  and  encouragement 
from  the  dense  circle  of  spectators,  the  lady 
danced  round  the  sham  clergyman,  dodging  his 
ponderous  blows,  slipping  under  his  arms,  and 
smacking  back  at  him  most  successfully.  Once 
she  tripped  and  fell  over  her  own  skirt,  but  was 
up  and  at  him  again  in  an  instant. 

"You  vulgar  fellow!"  she  shrieked.  "Would 
you  strike  a  helpless  woman!  Take  that!  Oh, 
you  rude  and  ill-bred  man !" 

Bully  Hooper  was  cowed  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life  by  the  extraordinary  thing  that  he  was 
fighting.  The  creature  was  as  elusive  as  a 
shadow,  and  yet  the  blood  was  dripping  down 
his  chin  from  the  effects  of  the  blows.  He  shrank 
back  with  an  amazed  face  from  so  uncanny  an 
antagonist.  And  in  the  moment  that  he  did  so 
his  spell  was  for  ever  broken.  Only  success 
could  hold  it.  A  check  was  fatal.  In  all  the  crowd 
there  was  scarce  one  who  was  not  nursing  some 
grievance  against  master  or  man,  and  waiting  for 
that  moment  of  weakness  in  which  to  revenge  it. 

With  a  growl  of  rage  the  circle  closed  in. 
[128] 


THE   FALL   OF   LORD   BARRYMORE 

There  was  an  eddy  of  furious,  struggling  men, 
with  Lord  Barrymore's  thin,  flushed  face  and 
Hooper's  bulldog  jowl  in  the  centre  of  it.  A 
moment  after  they  were  both  upon  the  ground, 
and  a  dozen  sticks  were  rising  and  falling  above 
them. 

"Let  me  up!  You're  killing  me!  For  God's 
sake  let  me  up!"  cried  a  crackling  voice. 

Hooper  fought  mute,  like  the  bulldog  he  was, 
till  his  senses  were  beaten  out  of  him. 

Bruised,  kicked,  and  mauled,  never  did  their 
worst  victim  come  so  badly  from  the  Gardens  as 
the  bully  and  his  patron  that  night.  But  worse 
than  the  ache  of  wounds  for  Lord  Barrymore 
was  the  smart  of  the  mind  as  he  thought  how 
every  club  and  drawing-room  in  London  would 
laugh  for  a  week  to  come  at  the  tale  of  his  Amelia 
and  her  aunt. 

Sir  Charles  had  stood,  rocking  with  laughter, 
upon  the  bench  which  overlooked  the  scene. 
When  at  last  he  made  his  way  back  through  the 
crowds  to  his  yellow  phaeton,  he  was  not  entirely 
surprised  to  find  that  the  back  seat  was  already 
occupied  by  two  giggling  females,  who  were  ex- 

[129] 


THE   FALL   OF   LORD   BARRYMORE 

changing  most  unladylike  repartees  with  the 
attendant  grooms. 

"You  young  rascals!"  he  remarked,  over  his 
shoulder,  as  he  gathered  up  his  reins. 

The  two  females  tittered  loudly. 

"Uncle  Charles!"  cried  the  elder,  "may  I  pre- 
sent Mr.  Jack  Jarvis,  of  Brasenose  College?  I 
think,  uncle,  you  should  take  us  some  where  to 
sup,  for  it  has  been  a  vastly  fatiguing  perform- 
ance. To-morrow  I  will  do  myself  the  honour  to 
call,  at  your  convenience,  and  will  venture  to 
bring  with  me  the  receipt  for  one  thousand 
pounds." 


[130] 


THE     HORROR     OF     THE 
H  E  IG  H  T  S 

(WHICH  INCLUDES  THE  MANUSCRIPT  KNOWN  AS 
THE  JOYCE-ARMSTRONG  FRAGMENT) 


THE  idea  that  the  extraordinary  narrative 
which  has  been  called  the  Joyce- Armstrong 
Fragment  is  an  elaborate  practical  joke  evolved 
by  some  unknown  person,  cursed  by  a  perverted 
and  sinister  sense  of  humour,  has  now  been 
abandoned  by  all  who  have  examined  the  matter. 
The  most  macabre  and  imaginative  of  plotters 
would  hesitate  before  linking  his  morbid  fancies 
with  the  unquestioned  and  tragic  facts  which  re- 
inforce the  statement.  Though  the  assertions 
contained  in  it  are  amazing  and  even  monstrous, 
it  is  none  the  less  forcing  itself  upon  the  general 
intelligence  that  they  are  true,  and  that  we  must 

[131] 


THE    HORROR   OF   THE    HEIGHTS 


readjust  our  ideas  to  the  new  situation.  This 
world  of  ours  appears  to  be  separated  by  a  slight 
and  precarious  margin  of  safety  from  a  most 
singular  and  unexpected  danger.  I  will  en- 
deavour in  this  narrative,  which  reproduces  the 
original  document  in  its  necessarily  somewhat 
fragmentary  form,  to  lay  before  the  reader  the 
whole  of  the  facts  up  to  date,  prefacing  my  state- 
ment by  saying  that,  if  there  be  any  who  doubt 
the  narrative  of  Joyce- Armstrong,  there  can  be 
no  question  at  all  as  to  the  facts  concerning  Lieu- 
tenant Myrtle,  R.N.,  and  Mr.  Hay  Connor,  who 
undoubtedly  met  their  end  in  the  manner  de- 
scribed. 

The  Joyce- Armstrong  Fragment  was  found  in 
the  field  which  is  called  Lower  Haycock,  lying 
one  mile  to  the  westward  of  the  village  of  Withy- 
ham,  upon  the  Kent  and  Sussex  border.  It  was 
on  the  fifteenth  of  September  last  that  an  agricul- 
tural labourer,  James  Flynn,  in  the  employment 
of  Mathew  Dodd,  farmer,  of  the  Chauntry  Farm, 
Withyham,  perceived  a  briar  pipe  lying  near  the 
footpath  which  skirts  the  hedge  in  Lower  Hay- 
cock. A  few  paces  farther  on  he  picked  up  a 
pair  of  broken  binocular  glasses.  Finally, 
[132] 


THE   HORROR  OF   THE   HEIGHTS 


among  some  nettles,  in  the  ditch,  he  caught  sight 
of  a  flat,  canvas-backed  book,  which  proved  to  be 
a  note-book  with  detachable  leaves,  some  of  which 
had  come  loose  and  were  fluttering  along  the  base 
of  the  hedge.  These  he  collected,  but  some, 
including  the  first,  were  never  recovered,  and 
leave  a  deplorable  hiatus  in  this  all-important 
statement.  The  note-book  was  taken  by  the 
labourer  to  his  master,  who  in  turn  showed  it 
to  Dr.  J.  H.  Atherton,  of  Hartfield.  This  gen- 
tleman at  once  recognised  the  need  for  an  expert 
examination,  and  the  manuscript  was  forwarded 
to  the  Aero  Club  in  London,  where  it  now  lies. 

The  first  two  pages  of  the  manuscript  are  miss- 
ing. There  is  also  one  torn  away  at  the  end  of 
the  narrative,  though  none  of  these  affect  the 
general  coherence  of  the  story.  It  is  conjectured 
that  the  missing  opening  is  concerned  with  the 
record  of  Mr.  Joyce- Armstrong's  qualifications 
as  an  aeronaut,  which  can  be  gathered  from  other 
sources  and  are  admitted  to  be  unsurpassed 
among  the  air-pilots  of  England.  For  many 
years  he  has  been  looked  upon  as  among  the 
most  daring  and  the  most  intellectual  of  flying 
men,  a  combination  which  has  enabled  him  to 

[133] 


THE    HORROR   OF   THE    HEIGHTS 


both  invent  and  test  several  new  devices,  includ- 
ing the  common  gyroscopic  attachment  which  is 
known  by  his  name.  The  main  body  of  the 
manuscript  is  written  neatly  in  ink,  but  the  last 
few  lines  are  in  pencil  and  are  so  ragged  as  to 
be  hardly  legible — exactly,  in  fact,  as  they  might 
be  expected  to  appear  if  they  were  scribbled  off 
hurriedly  from  the  seat  of  a  moving  aeroplane. 
There  are,  it  may  be  added,  several  stains,  both 
on  the  last  page  and  on  the  outside  cover,  which 
have  been  pronounced  by  the  Home  Office  experts 
to  be  blood — probably  human  and  certainly  mam- 
malian. The  fact  that  something  closely  resem- 
bling the  organism  of  malaria  was  discovered  in 
this  blood,  and  that  Joyce- Armstrong  is  known 
to  have  suffered  from  intermittent  fever,  is  a 
remarkable  example  of  the  new  weapons  which 
modern  science  has  placed  in  the  hands  of  our 
detectives. 

And  now  a  word  as  to  the  personality  of  the 
author  of  this  epoch-making  statement.  Joyce- 
Armstrong,  according  to  the  few  friends  who 
really  knew  something  of  the  man,  was  a  poet 
and  a  dreamer,  as  well  as  a  mechanic  and  an 
inventor.  He  was  a  man  of  considerable  wealth, 
[134] 


THE    HORROR   OF   THE    HEIGHTS 


much  of  which  he  had  spent  in  the  pursuit  of  his 
aeronautical  hobby.  He  had  four  private  aero- 
planes in  his  hangars  near  Devizes,  and  is  said 
to  have  made  no  fewer  than  one  hundred  and 
seventy  ascents  in  the  course  of  last  year.  He 
was  a  retiring  man  with  dark  moods,  in  which  he 
would  avoid  the  society  of  his  fellows.  Captain 
Dangerfield,  who  knew  him  better  than  any  one, 
says  that  there  were  times  when  his  eccentricity 
threatened  to  develop  into  something  more 
serious.  His  habit  of  carrying  a  shot-gun  with 
him  in  his  aeroplane  was  one  manifestation  of  it. 

Another  was  the  morbid  effect  which  the  fall 
of  Lieutenant  Myrtle  had  upon  his  mind.  Myrtle, 
who  was  attempting  the  height  record,  fell  from 
an  altitude  of  something  over  thirty  thousand 
feet.  Horrible  to  narrate,  his  head  was  entirely 
obliterated,  though  his  body  and  limbs  preserved 
their  configuration.  At  every  gathering  of  air- 
men, Joyce-Armstrong,  according  to  Danger- 
field,  would  ask,  with  an  enigmatic  smile :  "And 
where,  pray,  is  Myrtle's  head?" 

On  another  occasion  after  dinner,  at  the  mess 
of  the  Flying  School  on  Salisbury  Plain,  he 

[135] 


THE    HORROR   OF   THE    HEIGHTS 


started  a  debate  as  to  what  will  be  the  most 
permanent  danger  which  airmen  will  have  to 
encounter.  Having  listened  to  successive  opinions 
as  to  air-pockets,  faulty  construction,  and  over- 
banking,  he  ended  by  shrugging  his  shoulders  and 
refusing  to  put  forward  his  own  views,  though 
he  gave  the  impression  that  they  differed  from 
any  advanced  by  his  companions. 

It  is  worth  remarking  that  after  his  own 
complete  disappearance  it  was  found  that  his 
private  affairs  were  arranged  with  a  precision 
which  may  show  that  he  had  a  strong  premonition 
of  disaster.  With  these  essential  explanations  I 
will  now  give  the  narrative  exactly  as  it  stands, 
beginning  at  page  three  of  the  blood-soaked  note- 
book : — 

"Nevertheless,  when  I  dined  at  Rheims  with 
Coselli  and  Gustav  Raymond  I  found  that  neither 
of  them  was  aware  of  any  particular  danger  in 
the  higher  layers  of  the  atmosphere.  I  did  not 
actually  say  what  was  in  my  thoughts,  but  I  got 
so  near  to  it  that  if  they  had  any  corresponding 
idea  they  could  not  have  failed  to  express  it.  But 
then  they  are  two  empty,  vainglorious  fellows 
with  no  thought  beyond  seeing  their  silly  names 
[136] 


THE    HORROR   OF   THE    HEIGHTS 


in  the  newspaper.  It  is  interesting  to  note  that 
neither  of  them  had  ever  been  much  beyond  the 
twenty-thousand-foot  level.  Of  course,  men  have 
been  higher  than  this  both  in  balloons  and  in  the 
ascent  of  mountains.  It  must  be  well  above  that 
point  that  the  aeroplane  enters  the  danger  zone — 
always  presuming  that  my  premonitions  are 
correct. 

"Aeroplaning  has  been  with  us  now  for  more 
than  twenty  years,  and  one  might  well  ask :  Why 
should  this  peril  be  only  revealing  itself  in  our 
day?  The  answer  is  obvious.  In  the  old  days 
of  weak  engines,  when  a  hundred  horse-power 
Gnome  or  Green  was  considered  ample  for  every 
need,  the  flights  were  very  restricted.  Now  that 
three  hundred  horse-power  is  the  rule  rather  than 
the  exception,  visits  to  the  upper  layers  have 
become  easier  and  more  common.  Some  of  us 
can  remember  how,  in  our  youth,  Garros  made  a 
world-wide  reputation  by  attaining  nineteen 
thousand  feet,  and  it  was  considered  a  remarkable 
achievement  to  fly  over  the  Alps.  Our  standard 
now  has  been  immeasurably  raised,  and  there  are 
twenty  high  flights  for  one  in  former  years.  Many 
of  them  have  been  undertaken  with  impunity. 

[137] 


THE   HORROR   OF   THE    HEIGHTS 


The  thirty-thousand-foot  level  has  been  reached 
time  after  time  with  no  discomfort  beyond  cold 
and  asthma.  What  does  this  prove?  A  visitor 
might  descend  upon  this  planet  a  thousand  times 
and  never  see  a  tiger.  Yet  tigers  exist,  and  if 
he  chanced  to  come  down  into  a  jungle  he  might 
be  devoured.  There  are  jungles  of  the  upper 
air,  and  there  are  worse  things  than  tigers  which 
inhabit  them.  I  believe  in  time  they  will  map 
these  jungles  accurately  out.  Even  at  the 
present  moment  I  could  name  two  of  them.  One 
of  them  lies  over  the  Pau-Biarritz  district  of 
France.  Another  is  just  over  my  head  as  I 
write  here  in  my  house  in  Wiltshire.  I  rather 
think  there  is  a  third  in  the  Homburg- Wiesbaden 
district. 

"It  was  the  disappearance  of  the  airmen  that 
first  set  me  thinking.  Of  course,  every  one  said 
that  they  had  fallen  into  the  sea,  but  that  did  not 
satisfy  me  at  all.  First,  there  was  Verrier  in 
France;  his  machine  was  found  near  Bayonne, 
but  they  never  got  his  body.  There  was  the  case 
of  Baxter  also,  who  vanished,  though  his  engine 
and  some  of  the  iron  fixings  were  found  in  a  wood 
in  Leicestershire.  In  that  case,  Dr.  Middleton, 
[138] 


THE   HORROR   OF  THE   HEIGHTS 


of  Amesbury,  who  was  watching  the  flight  with  a 
telescope,  declares  that  just  before  the  clouds 
obscured  the  view  he  saw  the  machine,  which  was 
at  an  enormous  height,  suddenly  rise  perpendicu- 
larly upwards  in  a  succession  of  jerks  in  a  manner 
that  he  would  have  thought  to  be  impossible.  That 
was  the  last  seen  of  Baxter.  There  was  a  cor- 
respondence in  the  papers,  but  it  never  led  to 
anything.  There  were  several  other  similar  cases, 
and  then  there  was  the  death  of  Hay  Connor. 
What  a  cackle  there  was  about  an  unsolved 
mystery  of  the  air,  and  what  columns  in  the  half- 
penny papers,  and  yet  how  little  was  ever  done 
to  get  to  the  bottom  of  the  business!  He  came 
down  in  a  tremendous  vol-plane  from  an  un- 
known height.  He  never  got  off  his  machine  and 
died  in  his  pilot's  seat.  Died  of  what?  'Heart 
disease,'  said  the  doctors.  Rubbish!  Hay  Con- 
nor's heart  was  as  sound  as  mine  is.  What  did 
Venables  say?  Venables  was  the  only  man  who 
was  at  his  side  when  he  died.  He  said  that  he 
was  shivering  and  looked  like  a  man  who  had  been 
badly  scared.  'Died  of  fright/  said  Venables, 
but  could  not  imagine  what  he  was  frightened 
about.  Only  said  one  word  to  Venables,  which 

[139] 


THE    HORROR   OF   THE   HEIGHTS 


sounded  like  'Monstrous.'  They  could  make 
nothing  of  that  at  the  inquest.  But  I  could  make 
something  of  it.  Monsters!  That  was  the  last 
word  of  poor  Harry  Hay  Connor.  And  he  did 
die  of  fright,  just  as  Venables  thought. 

"And  then  there  was  Myrtle's  head.  Do  you 
really  believe — does  anybody  really  believe — that 
a  man's  head  could  be  driven  clean  into  his  body 
by  the  force  of  a  fall?  Well,  perhaps  it  may  be 
possible,  but  I,  for  one,  have  never  believed  that 
it  was  so  with  Myrtle.  And  the  grease  upon  his 
clothes — 'all  slimy  with  grease/  said  somebody 
at  the  inquest.  Queer  that  nobody  got  thinking 
after  that!  I  did — but,  then,  I  had  been  thinking 
for  a  good  long  time.  I've  made  three  ascents — 
how  Dangerfield  used  to  chaff  me  about  my  shot- 
gun!— but  I've  never  been  high  enough.  Now, 
with  this  new  light  Paul  Veroner  machine  and  its 
one  hundred  and  seventy-five  Robur,  I  should 
easily  touch  the  thirty  thousand  to-morrow.  I'll 
have  a  shot  at  the  record.  Maybe  I  shall  have  a 
shot  at  something  else  as  well.  Of  course,  it's 
dangerous.  If  a  fellow  wants  to  avoid  danger 
he  had  best  keep  out  of  flying  altogether  and  sub- 
side finally  into  flannel  slippers  and  a  dressing- 
[140] 


THE    HORROR   OF   THE    HEIGHTS 


gown.  But  I'll  visit  the  air- jungle  to-morrow — 
and  if  there's  anything  there  I  shall  know  it.  If 
I  return,  I'll  find  myself  a  bit  of  a  celebrity.  If 
I  don't,  this  note-book  may  explain  what  I  am 
trying  to  do,  and  how  I  lost  my  life  in  doing  it. 
But  no  drivel  about  accidents  or  mysteries,  if 
you  please. 

"I  chose  my  Paul  Veroner  monoplane  for  the 
job.  There's  nothing  like  a  monoplane  when  real 
work  is  to  be  done.  Beaumont  found  that  out  in 
very  early  days.  For  one  thing,  it  doesn't  mind 
damp,  and  the  weather  looks  as  if  we  should  be 
in  the  clouds  all  the  time.  It's  a  bonny  little 
model  and  answers  my  hand  like  a  tender- 
mouthed  horse.  The  engine  is  a  ten-cylinder  ro- 
tary Robur  working  up  to  one  hundred  and  sev- 
enty-five. It  has  all  the  modern  improvements — 
enclosed  fusilage,  high-curved  landing  skids, 
brakes,  gyroscopic  steadiers,  and  three  speeds, 
worked  by  an  alteration  of  the  angle  of  the  planes 
upon  the  Venetian-blind  principle.  I  took  a  shot- 
gun with  me  and  a  dozen  cartridges  filled  with 
buck-shot.  You  should  have  seen  the  face  of 
Perkins,  my  old  mechanic,  when  I  directed  him 
to  put  them  in.  I  was  dressed  like  an  Arctic 

[141] 


THE    HORROR   OF   THE   HEIGHTS 

explorer,  with  two  jerseys  under  my  overalls, 
thick  socks  inside  my  padded  boots,  a  storm-cap 
with  flaps,  and  my  talc  goggles.  It  was  stifling 
outside  the  hangars,  but  I  was  going  for  the 
summit  of  the  Himalayas,  and  had  to  dress  for 
the  part.  Perkins  knew  there  was  something  on 
and  implored  me  to  take  him  with  me.  Perhaps 
I  should  if  I  were  using  the  biplane,  but  a  mono- 
plane is  a  one-man  show — if  you  want  to  get  the 
last  foot  of  lift  out  of  it.  Of  course,  I  took  an 
oxygen  bag;  the  man  who  goes  for  the  altitude 
record  without  one  will  either  be  frozen  or 
smothered — or  both. 

"I  had  a  good  look  at  the  planes,  the  rudder- 
bar,  and  the  elevating  lever  before  I  got  in. 
Everything  was  in  order  so  far  as  I  could  see. 
Then  I  switched  on  my  engine  and  found  that 
she  was  running  sweetly.  When  they  let  her 
go  she  rose  almost  at  once  upon  the  lowest  speed. 
I  circled  my  home  field  once  or  twice  just  to 
warm  her  up,  and  then,  with  a  wave  to  Perkins 
and  the  others,  I  flattened  out  my  planes  and 
put  her  on  her  highest.  She  skimmed  like  a  swal- 
low down  wind  for  eight  or  ten  miles  until  I 
turned  her  nose  up  a  little  and  she  began  to  climb 
[U2] 


THE    HORROR   OF   THE    HEIGHTS 


in  a  great  spiral  for  the  cloud-bank  above  me. 
It's  all-important  to  rise  slowly  and  adapt  your- 
self to  the  pressure  as  you  go. 

"It  was  a  close,  warm  day  for  an  English  Sep- 
tember, and  there  was  the  hush  and  heaviness  of 
impending  rain.  Now  and  then  there  came  sud- 
den puffs  of  wind  from  the  south-west — one  of 
them  so  gusty  and  unexpected  that  it  caught  me 
napping  and  turned  me  half-round  for  an  instant. 
I  remember  the  time  when  gusts  and  whirls  and 
air-pockets  used  to  be  things  of  danger — before 
we  learned  to  put  an  over-mastering  power  into 
our  engines.  Just  as  I  reached  the  cloud-banks, 
with  the  altimeter  marking  three  thousand,  down 
came  the  rain.  My  word,  how  it  poured!  It 
drummed  upon  my  wings  and  lashed  against  my 
face,  blurring  my  glasses  so  that  I  could  hardly 
see.  I  got  down  on  to  a  low  speed,  for  it  was 
painful  to  travel  against  it.  As  I  got  higher  it 
became  hail,  and  I  had  to  turn  tail  to  it.  One 
of  my  cylinders  was  out  of  action — a  dirty  plug, 
I  should  imagine,  but  still  I  was  rising  steadily 
with  plenty  of  power.  After  a  bit  the  trouble 
passed,  whatever  it  was,  and  I  heard  the  full, 
deep-throated  purr — the  ten  singing  as  one. 

[143] 


THE   HORROR  OF   THE   HEIGHTS 


That's  where  the  beauty  of  our  modern  silencers 
comes  in.  We  can  at  last  control  our  engines 
by  ear.  How  they  squeal  and  squeak  and  sob 
when  they  are  in  trouble !  All  those  cries  for  help 
were  wasted  in  the  old  days,  when  every  sound 
was  swallowed  up  by  the  monstrous  racket  of  the 
machine.  If  only  the  early  aviators  could  come 
back  to  see  the  beauty  and  perfection  of  the 
mechanism  which  have  been  bought  at  the  cost  of 
their  lives ! 

"About  nine-thirty  I  was  rearing  the  clouds. 
Down  below  me,  all  blurred  and  shadowed  with 
rain,  lay  the  vast  expanse  of  Salisbury  Plain. 
Half-a-dozen  flying  machines  were  doing  hack- 
work at  the  thousand-foot  level,  looking  like  little 
black  swallows  against  the  green  back-ground. 
I  dare  say  they  were  wondering  what  I  was  doing 
up  in  cloud-land.  Suddenly  a  grey  curtain  drew 
across  beneath  me  and  the  wet  folds  of  vapour 
were  swirling  round  my  face.  It  was  clammily 
cold  and  miserable.  But  I  was  above  the  hail- 
storm, and  that  was  something  gained.  The 
cloud  was  as  dark  and  thick  as  a  London  fog. 
In  my  anxiety  to  get  clear,  I  cocked  her  nose  up 
until  the  automatic  alarm-bell  rang,  and  I 
[14*] 


THE  HORROR  OF   THE   HEIGHTS 


actually  began  to  slide  backwards.  My  sopped 
and  dripping  wings  had  made  me  heavier  than  I 
thought,  but  presently  I  was  in  lighter  cloud,  and 
soon  had  cleared  the  first  layer.  There  was  a  sec- 
ond— opal-coloured  and  fleecy — at  a  great  height 
above  my  head,  a  white  unbroken  ceiling  above, 
and  a  dark  unbroken  floor  below,  with  the  mono- 
plane labouring  upwards  upon  a  vast  spiral  be- 
tween them.  It  is  deadly  lonely  in  these  cloud- 
spaces.  Once  a  great  flight  of  some  small  water- 
birds  went  past  me,  flying  very  fast  to  the  west- 
wards. The  quick  whirr  of  their  wings  and  their 
musical  cry  were  cheery  to  my  ear.  I  fancy  that 
they  were  teal,  but  I  am  a  wretched  zoologist. 
Now  that  we  humans  have  become  birds  we  must 
really  learn  to  know  our  brethren  by  sight. 

"The  wind  down  beneath  me  whirled  and 
swayed  the  broad  cloud-plain.  Once  a  great  eddy 
formed  in  it,  a  whirlpool  of  vapour,  and  through 
it,  as  down  a  funnel,  I  caught  sight  of  the  distant 
world.  A  large  white  biplane  was  passing  at  a 
vast  depth  beneath  me.  I  fancy  it  was  the  morn- 
ing mail  service  betwixt  Bristol  and  London. 
Then  the  drift  swirled  inwards  again  and  the 
great  solitude  was  unbroken. 

[145] 


THE    HORROR   OF   THE   HEIGHTS 


"Just  after  ten  I  touched  the  lower  edge  of  the 
upper  cloud-stratum.  It  consisted  of  fine 
diaphanous  vapour  drifting  swiftly  from  the 
westward.  The  wind  had  been  steadily  rising  all 
this  time  and  it  was  now  blowing  a  sharp  breeze — 
twenty-eight  an  hour  by  my  gauge.  Already  it 
was  very  cold,  though  my  altimeter  only  marked 
nine  thousand.  The  engines  were  working  beau- 
tifully, and  we  went  droning  steadily  upwards. 
The  cloud-bank  was  thicker  than  I  had  expected, 
but  at  last  it  thinned  out  into  a  golden  mist  be- 
fore me,  and  then  in  an  instant  I  had  shot  out 
from  it,  and  there  was  an  unclouded  sky  and  a 
brilliant  sun  above  my  head — all  blue  and  gold 
above,  all  shining  silver  below,  one  vast  glim- 
mering plain  as  far  as  my  eyes  could  reach.  It 
was  a  quarter  past  ten  o'clock,  and  the  barograph 
needle  pointed  to  twelve  thousand  eight  hundred. 
Up  I  went  and  up,  my  ears  concentrated  upon 
the  deep  purring  of  my  motor,  my  eyes  busy  al- 
ways with  the  watch,  the  revolution  indicator,  the 
petrol  lever,  and  the  oil  pump.  No  wonder 
aviators  are  said  to  be  a  fearless  race.  With  so 
many  things  to  think  of  there  is  no  time  to  trouble 
about  oneself.  About  this  time  I  noted  how  un- 
[146] 


THE    HORROR   OF   THE    HEIGHTS 


reliable  is  the  compass  when  above  a  certain  height 
from  earth.  At  fifteen  thousand  feet  mine  was 
pointing  east  and  a  point  south.  The  sun  and 
the  wind  gave  me  my  true  bearings. 

"I  had  hoped  to  reach  an  eternal  stillness  in 
these  high  altitudes,  but  with  every  thousand 
feet  of  ascent  the  gale  grew  stronger.  My  ma- 
chine groaned  and  trembled  ir.  every  joint  and 
rivet  as  she  faced  it,  and  swept  away  like  a  sheet 
of  paper  when  I  banked  her  on  the  turn,  skim- 
ming down  wind  at  a  greater  pace,  perhaps,  than 
ever  mortal  man  has  moved.  Yet  I  had  always  to 
turn  again  and  tack  up  in  the  wind's  eye,  for  it 
was  not  merely  a  height  record  that  I  was  after. 
By  all  my  calculations  it  was  above  little  Wilt- 
shire that  my  air- jungle  lay,  and  all  my  labour 
might  be  lost  if  I  struck  the  outer  layers  at  some 
farther  point. 

"When  I  reached  the  nineteen-thousand-foot 
level,  which  was  about  midday,  the  wind  was  so 
severe  that  I  looked  with  some  anxiety  to  the 
stays  of  my  wings,  expecting  momentarily  to 
see  them  snap  or  slacken.  I  even  cast  loose  the 
parachute  behind  me,  and  fastened  its  hook  into 
the  ring  of  my  leathern  belt,  so  as  to  be  ready  for 

[147] 


THE    HORROR  OF   THE   HEIGHTS 


the  worst.  Now  was  the  time  when  a  bit  of 
scamped  work  by  the  mechanic  is  paid  for  by  the 
life  of  the  aeronaut.  But  she  held  together 
bravely.  Every  cord  and  strut  was  humming  and 
vibrating  like  so  many  harp-strings,  but  it  was 
glorious  to  see  how,  for  all  the  beating  and  the 
buffeting,  she  was  still  the  conqueror  of  Nature 
and  the  mistress  of  the  sky.  There  is  surely  some- 
thing divine  in  man  himself  that  he  should  rise 
so  superior  to  the  limitations  which  Creation 
seemed  to  impose — rise,  too,  by  such  unselfish, 
heroic  devotion  as  this  air-conquest  has  shown. 
Talk  of  human  degeneration !  When  has  such  a 
story  as  this  been  written  in  the  annals  of  our 
race? 

"These  were  the  thoughts  in  my  head  as  I 
climbed  that  monstrous  inclined  plane  with  the 
wind  sometimes  beating  in  my  face  and  sometimes 
whistling  behind  my  ears,  while  the  cloud-land 
beneath  me  fell  away  to  such  a  distance  that  the 
folds  and  hummocks  of  silver  had  all  smoothed 
out  into  one  flat,  shining  plain.  But  suddenly 
I  had  a  horrible  and  unprecedented  experience. 
I  have  known  before  what  it  is  to  be  in  what  our 
neighbours  have  called  a  tourbillon,  but  never  on 
[148] 


THE   HOEROE   OF   THE   HEIGHTS 


such  a  scale  as  this.  That  huge,  sweeping  river  of 
wind  of  which  I  have  spoken  had,  as  it  appears, 
whirlpools  within  it  which  were  as  monstrous  as 
itself.  Without  a  moment's  warning  I  was 
dragged  suddenly  into  the  heart  of  one.  I  spun 
round  for  a  minute  or  two  with  such  velocity  that 
I  almost  lost  my  senses,  and  then  fell  suddenly, 
left  wing  foremost,  down  the  vacuum  funnel  in 
the  centre.  I  dropped  like  a  stone,  and  lost 
nearly  a  thousand  feet.  It  was  only  my  belt  that 
kept  me  in  my  seat,  and  the  shock  and  breathless- 
ness  left  me  hanging  half -insensible  over  the  side 
of  the  fusilage.  But  I  am  always  capable  of  a 
supreme  effort — it  is  my  one  great  merit  as  an 
aviator.  I  was  conscious  that  the  descent  was 
slower.  The  whirlpool  was  a  cone  rather  than  a 
funnel,  and  I  had  come  to  the  apex.  With  a  ter- 
rific wrench,  throwing  my  weight  all  to  one  side, 
I  levelled  my  planes  and  brought  her  head  away 
from  the  wind.  In  an  instant  I  had  shot  out  of 
the  eddies  and  was  skimming  down  the  sky.  Then, 
shaken  but  victorious,  I  turned  her  nose  up  and 
began  once  more  my  steady  grind  on  the  upward 
spiral.  I  took  a  large  sweep  to  avoid  the  danger- 
spot  of  the  whirlpool,  and  soon  I  was  safely 

[149] 


THE   HORROR  OF   THE   HEIGHTS 


above  it.  Just  after  one  o'clock  I  was  twenty- 
one  thousand  feet  above  the  sea-level.  To  my 
great  joy  I  had  topped  the  gale,  and  with  every 
hundred  feet  of  ascent  the  air  grew  stiller.  On 
the  other  hand,  it  was  very  cold,  and  I  was  con- 
scious of  that  peculiar  nausea  which  goes  with 
rarefaction  of  the  air.  For  the  first  time  I  un- 
screwed the  mouth  of  my  oxygen  bag  and  took 
an  occasional  whiff  of  the  glorious  gas.  I  could 
feel  it  running  like  a  cordial  through  my  veins, 
and  I  was  exhilarated  almost  to  the  point  of 
drunkenness.  I  shouted  and  sang  as  I  soared  up- 
wards into  the  cold,  still  outer  world. 

"It  is  very  clear  to  me  that  the  insensibility 
which  came  upon  Glaisher,  and  in  a  lesser  degree 
upon  Coxwell,  when,  in  1862,  they  ascended  in 
a  balloon  to  the  height  of  thirty  thousand  feet, 
was  due  to  the  extreme  speed  with  which  a  per- 
pendicular ascent  is  made.  Doing  it  at  an  easy 
gradient  and  accustoming  oneself  to  the  lessened 
barometric  pressure  by  slow  degrees,  there  are  no 
such  dreadful  symptoms.  At  the  same  great 
height  I  found  that  even  without  my  oxygen  in- 
haler I  could  breathe  without  undue  distress.  It 
was  bitterly  cold,  however,  and  my  thermometer 
[150] 


THE   HORROR   OF   THE   HEIGHTS 


was  at  zero  Fahrenheit.  At  one-thirty  I  was 
nearly  seven  miles  above  the  surface  of  the  earth, 
and  still  ascending  steadily.  I  found,  however, 
that  the  rarefied  air  was  giving  markedly  less  sup- 
port to  my  planes,  and  that  my  angle  of  ascent 
had  to  be  considerably  lowered  in  consequence. 
It  was  already  clear  that  even  with  my  light 
weight  and  strong  engine-power  there  was  a  point 
in  front  of  me  where  I  should  be  held.  To  make 
matters  worse,  one  of  my  sparking-plugs  was 
in  trouble  again  and  there  was  intermittent  miss- 
fir  ing,  in  the  engine.  My  heart  was  heavy  with 
the  fear  of  failure. 

"It  was  about  that  time  that  I  had  a  most 
extraordinary  experience.  Something  whizzed 
past  me  in  a  trail  of  smoke  and  exploded  with 
a  loud,  hissing  sound,  sending  forth  a  cloud  of 
steam.  For  the  instant  I  could  not  imagine  what 
had  happened.  Then  I  remembered  that  the 
earth  is  for  ever  being  bombarded  by  meteor 
stones,  and  would  be  hardly  inhabitable  were 
they  not  in  nearly  every  case  turned  to  vapour 
in  the  outer  layers  of  the  atmosphere.  Here  is 
a  new  danger  for  the  high-altitude  man,  for  two 
others  passed  me  when  I  was  nearing  the  forty- 

[151] 


THE    HORROR   OF   THE    HEIGHTS 


thousand-foot  mark.  I  cannot  doubt  that  at  the 
edge  of  the  earth's  envelope  the  risk  would  be  a 
very  real  one. 

"My  barograph  needle  marked  forty-one  thou- 
sand three  hundred  when  I  became  aware  that  I 
could  go  no  farther.  Physically,  the  strain  was 
not  as  yet  greater  than  I  could  bear,  but  my  ma- 
chine had  reached  its  limit.  The  attenuated  air 
gave  no  firm  support  to  the  wings,  and  the  least 
tilt  developed  into  side-slip,  while  she  seemed 
sluggish  on  her  controls.  Possibly,  had  the  en- 
gine been  at  its  best,  another  thousand  feet  might 
have  been  within  our  capacity,  but  it  was  still 
misfiring,  and  two  out  of  the  ten  cylinders  ap- 
peared to  be  out  of  action.  If  I  had  not  already 
reached  the  zone  for  which  I  was  searching  then  I 
should  never  see  it  upon  this  journey.  But  was 
it  not  possible  that  I  had  attained  it?  Soaring  in 
circles  like  a  monstrous  hawk  upon  the  forty- 
thousand-foot  level  I  let  the  monoplane  guide 
herself,  and  with  my  Mannheim  glass  I  made  a 
careful  observation  of  my  surroundings.  The 
heavens  were  perfectly  clear ;  there  was  no  indica- 
tion of  those  dangers  which  I  had  imagined. 

"I  have  said  that  I  was  soaring  in  circles.  It 
[152] 


THE    HORROR   OF   THE    HEIGHTS 


struck  me  suddenly  that  I  would  do  well  to 
take  a  wider  sweep  and  open  up  a  new  air-tract. 
If  the  hunter  entered  an  earth- jungle  he  would 
drive  through  it  if  he  wished  to  find  his  game. 
My  reasoning  had  led  me  to  believe  that  the  air- 
jungle  which  I  had  imagined  lay  somewhere  over 
Wiltshire.  This  should  be  to  the  south  and  west 
of  me.  I  took  my  bearings  from  the  sun,  for  the 
compass  was  hopeless  and  no  trace  of  earth  was 
to  be  seen — nothing  but  the  distant  silver  cloud- 
plain.  However,  I  got  my  direction  as  best  I 
might  and  kept  her  head  straight  to  the  mark.  I 
reckoned  that  my  petrol  supply  would  not  last  for 
more  than  another  hour  or  so,  but  I  could  afford 
to  use  it  to  the  last  drop,  since  a  single  magnificent 
vol-plane  could  at  any  time  take  me  to  the  earth. 
"Suddenly  I  was  aware  of  something  new. 
The  air  in  front  of  me  had  lost  its  crystal  clear- 
ness. It  was  full  of  long,  ragged  wisps  of  some- 
thing which  I  can  only  compare  to  very  fine 
cigarette-smoke.  It  hung  about  in  wreaths  and 
coils,  turning  and  twisting  slowly  in  the  sunlight. 
As  the  monoplane  shot  through  it,  I  was  aware 
of  a  faint  taste  of  oil  upon  my  lips,  and  there  was 

[153] 


THE    HORROR   OF   THE    HEIGHTS 


a  greasy  scum  upon  the  woodwork  of  the  machine. 
Some  infinitely  fine  organic  matter  appeared  to 
be  suspended  in  the  atmosphere.  There  was  no 
life  there.  It  was  inchoate  and  diffuse,  extending 
for  many  square  acres  and  then  fringing  off  into 
the  void.  No,  it  was  not  life.  But  might  it  not 
be  the  remains  of  life?  Above  all,  might  it  not 
be  the  food  of  life,  of  monstrous  life,  even  as  the 
humble  grease  of  the  ocean  is  the  food  for  the 
mighty  whale?  The  thought  was  in  my  mind 
when  my  eyes  looked  upwards  and  I  saw  the  most 
wonderful  vision  that  ever  man  has  seen.  Can  I 
hope  to  convey  it  to  you  even  as  I  saw  it  myself 
last  Thursday? 

"Conceive  a  jelly-fish  such  as  sails  in  our  sum- 
mer seas,  bell-shaped  and  of  enormous  size — 
far  larger,  I  should  judge,  than  the  dome  of  St. 
Paul's.  It  was  of  a  light  pink  colour  veined  with 
a  delicate  green,  but  the  whole  huge  fabric  so 
tenuous  that  it  was  but  a  fairy  outline  against  the 
dark  blue  sky.  It  pulsated  with  a  delicate  and 
regular  rhythm.  From  it  there  depended  two 
long,  drooping  green  tentacles,  which  swayed 
slowly  backwards  and  forwards.  This  gorgeous 
vision  passed  gently  with  noiseless  dignity  over 
[154] 


THE   HORROR  OF  THE   HEIGHTS 


my  head,  as  light  and  fragile  as  a  soap-bubble, 
and  drifted  upon  its  stately  way. 

"I  had  half-turned  my  monoplane,  that  I  might 
look  after  this  beautiful  creature,  when,  in  a  mo- 
ment, I  found  myself  amidst  a  perfect  fleet  of 
them,  of  all  sizes,  but  none  so  large  as  the  first. 
Some  were  quite  small,  but  the  majority  about  as 
big  as  an  average  balloon,  and  with  much  the  same 
curvature  at  the  top.  There  was  in  them  a  deli- 
cacy of  texture  and  colouring  which  reminded  me 
of  the  finest  Venetian  glass.  Pale  shades  of  pink 
and  green  were  the  prevailing  tints,  but  all  had  a 
lovely  iridescence  where  the  sun  shimmered 
through  their  dainty  forms.  Some  hundreds  of 
them  drifted  past  me,  a  wonderful  fairy  squadron 
of  strange,  unknown  argosies  of  the  sky — 
creatures  whose  forms  and  substance  were  so  at- 
tuned to  these  pure  heights  that  one  could  not 
conceive  anything  so  delicate  within  actual  sight 
or  sound  of  earth. 

"But  soon  my  attention  was  drawn  to  a  new 
phenomenon — the  serpents  of  the  outer  air.  These 
were  long,  thin,  fantastic  coils  of  vapour-like  ma- 
terial, which  turned  and  twisted  with  great  speed, 
flying  round  and  round  at  such  a  pace  that  the 

[155] 


THE    HORROR   OF   THE    HEIGHTS 


eyes  could  hardly  follow  them.  Some  of  these 
ghost-like  creatures  were  twenty  or  thirty  feet 
long,  but  it  was  difficult  to  tell  their  girth,  for 
their  outline  was  so  hazy  that  it  seemed  to  fade 
away  into  the  air  around  them.  These  air-snakes 
were  of  a  very  light  grey  or  smoke  colour,  with 
some  darker  lines  within,  which  gave  the  impres- 
sion of  a  definite  organism.  One  of  them  whisked 
past  my  very  face,  and  I  was  conscious  of  a  cold, 
clammy  contact,  but  their  composition  was  so  un- 
substantial that  I  could  not  connect  them  with 
any  thought  of  physical  danger,  any  more  than 
the  beautiful  bell-like  creatures  which  had  pre- 
ceded them.  There  was  no  more  solidity  in  their 
frames  than  in  the  floating  spume  from  a  broken 
wave. 

"But  a  more  terrible  experience  was  in  store 
for  me.  Floating  downwards  from  a  great 
height  there  came  a  purplish  patch  of  vapour, 
small  as  I  saw  it  first,  but  rapidly  enlarging  as 
it  approached  me,  until  it  appeared  to  be  hun- 
dreds of  square  feet  in  size.  Though  fashioned 
of  some  transparent,  jelly-like  substance,  it  was 
none  the  less  of  much  more  definite  outline  and 
solid  consistence  than  anything  which  I  had  seen 
[156] 


THE    HORROR   OF   THE    HEIGHTS 


before.  There  were  more  traces,  too,  of  a  phys- 
ical organisation,  especially  two  vast  shadowy, 
circular  plates  upon  either  side,  which  may  have 
been  eyes,  and  a  perfectly  solid  white  projection 
between  them  which  was  as  curved  and  cruel  as 
the  beak  of  a  vulture. 

"The  whole  aspect  of  this  monster  was  for- 
midable and  threatening,  and  it  kept  changing  its 
colour  from  a  very  light  mauve  to  a  dark,  angry 
purple  so  thick  that  it  cast  a  shadow  as  it  drifted 
between  my  monoplane  and  the  sun.  On  the  up- 
per curve  of  its  huge  body  there  were  three  great 
projections  which  I  can  only  describe  as  enor- 
mous bubbles,  and  I  was  convinced  as  I  looked  at 
them  that  they  were  charged  with  some  extremely 
light  gas  which  served  to  buoy  up  the  misshapen 
and  semi-solid  mass  in  the  rarefied  air.  The 
creature  moved  swiftly  along,  keeping  pace  easily 
with  the  monoplane,  and  for  twenty  miles  or  more 
it  formed  my  horrible  escort,  hovering  over  me 
like  a  bird  of  prey  which  is  waiting  to  pounce. 
Its  method  of  progression — done  so  swiftly  that 
it  was  not  easy  to  follow — was  to  throw  out  a 
long,  glutinous  streamer  in  front  of  it,  which  in 
turn  seemed  to  draw  forward  the  rest  of  the 

[157] 


THE   HORROR  OF  THE   HEIGHTS 


writhing  body.  So  elastic  and  gelatinous  was  it 
that  never  for  two  successive  minutes  was  it  the 
same  shape,  and  yet  each  change  made  it  more 
threatening  and  loathsome  than  the  last. 

"I  knew  that  it  meant  mischief.  Every  purple 
flush  of  its  hideous  body  told  me  so.  The  vague, 
goggling  eyes  which  were  turned  always  upon  me 
were  cold  and  merciless  in  their  viscid  hatred. 
I  dipped  the  nose  of  my  monoplane  downwards 
to  escape  it.  As  I  did  so,  as  quick  as  a  flash  there 
shot  out  a  long  tentacle  from  this  mass  of  floating 
blubber,  and  it  fell  as  light  and  sinuous  as  a  whip- 
lash across  the  front  of  my  machine.  There  was 
a  loud  hiss  as  it  lay  for  a  moment  across  the  hot 
engine,  and  it  whisked  itself  into  the  air  again, 
while  the  huge  flat  body  drew  itself  together  as  if 
in  sudden  pain.  I  dipped  to  a  vol-pique,  but 
again  a  tentacle  fell  over  the  monoplane  and  was 
shorn  off  by  the  propeller  as  easily  as  it  might 
have  cut  through  a  smoke  wreath.  A  long,  glid- 
ing, sticky,  serpent-like  coil  came  from  behind 
and  caught  me  round  the  waist,  dragging  me  out 
of  the  fusilage.  I  tore  at  it,  my  fingers  sinking 
into  the  smooth,  glue-like  surface,  and  for  an  in- 
stant I  disengaged  myself,  but  only  to  be  caught 
[158] 


THE   HORROR   OF   THE   HEIGHTS 


round  the  boot  by  another  coil,  which  gave  me  a 
jerk  that  tilted  me  almost  on  to  my  back. 

"As  I  fell  over  I  blazed  off  both  barrels  of  my 
gun,  though,  indeed,  it  was  like  attacking  an 
elephant  with  a  pea-shooter  to  imagine  that  any 
human  weapon  could  cripple  that  mighty  bulk. 
And  yet  I  aimed  better  than  I  knew,  for,  with  a 
loud  report,  one  of  the  great  blisters  upon  the 
creature's  back  exploded  with  the  puncture  of 
the  buck-shot.  It  was  very  clear  that  my  con- 
jecture was  right,  and  that  these  vast  clear  blad- 
ders were  distended  with  some  lifting  gas,  for  in 
an  instant  the  huge  cloud-like  body  turned  side- 
ways, writhing  desperately  to  find  its  balance, 
while  the  white  beak  snapped  and  gaped  in  hor- 
rible fury.  But  already  I  had  shot  away  on  the 
steepest  glide  that  I  dared  to  attempt,  my  engine 
still  full  on,  the  flying  propeller  and  the  force  of 
gravity  shooting  me  downwards  like  an  aerolite. 
Far  behind  me  I  saw  a  dull,  purplish  smudge 
growing  swiftly  smaller  and  merging  into  the 
blue  sky  behind  it.  I  was  safe  out  of  the  deadly 
jungle  of  the  outer  air. 

"Once  out  of  danger  I  throttled  my  engine, 
for  nothing  tears  a  machine  to  pieces  quicker 

[159] 


THE   HORROR  OF  THE   HEIGHTS 


than  running  on  full  power  from  a  height.  It 
was  a  glorious  spiral  vol-plane  from  nearly  eight 
miles  of  altitude — first,  to  the  level  of  the  silver 
cloud-bank,  then  to  that  of  the  storm-cloud  be- 
neath it,  and  finally,  in  beating  rain,  to  the  sur- 
face of  the  earth.  I  saw  the  Bristol  Channel  be- 
neath me  as  I  broke  from  the  clouds,  but,  having 
still  some  petrol  in  my  tank,  I  got  twenty  miles 
inland  before  I  found  myself  stranded  in  a  field 
half  a  mile  from  the  village  of  Ashcombe.  There 
I  got  three  tins  of  petrol  from  a  passing  motor- 
car, and  at  ten  minutes  past  six  that  evening  I 
alighted  gently  in  my  own  home  meadow  at  De- 
vizes, after  such  a  journey  as  no  mortal  upon 
earth  has  ever  yet  taken  and  lived  to  tell  the  tale. 
I  have  seen  the  beauty  and  I  have  seen  the  horror 
of  the  heights — and  greater  beauty  or  greater 
horror  than  that  is  not  within  the  ken  of  man. 

"And  now  it  is  my  plan  to  go  once  again  before 
I  give  my  results  to  the  world.  My  reason  for 
this  is  that  I  must  surely  have  something  to  show 
by  way  of  proof  before  I  lay  such  a  tale  before 
my  fellow-men.  It  is  true  that  others  will  soon 
follow  and  will  confirm  what  I  have  said,  and 
yet  I  should  wish  to  carry  conviction  from  the 
[160] 


THE    HORROR  OF  THE   HEIGHTS 


first.  Those  lovely  iridescent  bubbles  of  the  air 
should  not  be  hard  to  capture.  They  drift  slowly 
upon  their  way,  and  the  swift  monoplane  could 
intercept  their  leisurely  course.  It  is  likely 
enough  that  they  would  dissolve  in  the  heavier 
layers  of  the  atmosphere,  and  that  some  small 
heap  of  amorphous  jelly  might  be  all  that  I 
should  bring  to  earth  with  me.  And  yet  some- 
thing there  would  surely  be  by  which  I  could  sub- 
stantiate my  story.  Yes,  I  will  go,  even  if  I  run 
a  risk  by  doing  so.  These  purple  horrors  would 
not  seem  to  be  numerous.  It  is  probable  that  I 
shall  not  see  one.  If  I  do  I  shall  dive  at  once. 
At  the  worst  there  is  always  the  shot-gun  and  my 
knowledge  of  .  .  ." 

Here  a  page  of  the  manuscript  is  unfortun- 
nately  missing.  On  the  next  page  is  written,  in 
large,  straggling  writing: — 

"Forty-three  thousand  feet.  I  shall  never  see 
earth  again.  They  are  beneath  me,  three  of  them. 
God  help  me;  it  is  a  dreadful  death  to  die!" 

Such  in  its  entirety  is  the  Joyce-Armstrong 
Statement.  Of  the  man  nothing  has  since  been 

[161] 


THE   HORROR  OF  THE   HEIGHTS 


seen.  Pieces  of  his  shattered  monoplane  have 
been  picked  up  in  the  preserves  of  Mr.  Budd- 
Lushington  upon  the  borders  of  Kent  and  Sus- 
sex, within  a  few  miles  of  the  spot  where  the  note- 
book was  discovered.  If  the  unfortunate  avia- 
tor's theory  is  correct  that  this  air-jungle,  as  he 
called  it,  existed  only  over  the  south-west  of  Eng- 
land, then  it  would  seem  that  he  had  fled  from  it 
at  the  full  speed  of  his  monoplane,  but  had  been 
overtaken  and  devoured  by  these  horrible 
creatures  at  some  spot  in  the  outer  atmosphere 
above  the  place  where  the  grim  relics  were  found. 
The  picture  of  that  monoplane  skimming  down 
the  sky,  with  (the  nameless  terrors  flying  as  swiftly 
beneath  it  and  cutting  it  off  always  from  the 
earth  while  they  gradually  closed  in  upon  their 
victim,  is  one  upon  which  a  man  who  valued  his 
sanity  would  prefer  not  to  dwell.  There  are 
many,  as  I  am  aware,  who  still  jeer  at  the  facts 
which  I  have  here  set  down,  but  even  they  must 
admit  that  Joyce-Armstrong  has  disappeared, 
and  I  would  commend  to  them  his  own  words: 
"This  note-book  may  explain  what  I  am  trying 
to  do,  and  how  I  lost  my  life  in  doing  it.  But  no 
drivel  about  accidents  or  mysteries,  if  you  please." 
[162] 


VI 

BORROWED     SCENES 

"It  cannot  be  done.  People  really  would  not  stand  it.  I  know 
because  I  have  tried." — Extract  from  an  unpublished  paper  upon 
George  Borrow  and  his  writings. 

YES,  I  tried  and  my  experience  may  interest 
other  people.  You  must  imagine,  then, 
that  I  am  soaked  in  George  Borrow,  especially  in 
his  Lavengro  and  his  Romany  Rye,  that  I  have 
modelled  both  my  thoughts,  my  speech  and  my 
style  very  carefully  upon  those  of  the  master, 
and  that  finally  I  set  forth  one  summer  day 
actually  to  lead  the  life  of  which  I  had  read. 
Behold  me,  then,  upon  the  country  road  which 
leads  from  the  railway-station  to  the  Sussex  vil- 
lage of  Swinehurst. 

As  I  walked,  I  entertained  myself  by  recollec- 
tions of  the  founders  of  Sussex,  of  Cerdic  that 

[163] 


BORROWED   SCENES 


mighty  sea-rover,  and  of  Ella  his  son,  said  by  the 
bard  to  be  taller  by  the  length  of  a  spear-head 
than  the  tallest  of  his  fellows.  I  mentioned  the 
matter  twice  to  peasants  whom  I  met  upon  the 
road.  One,  a  tallish  man  with  a  freckled  face, 
sidled  past  me  and  ran  swiftly  towards  the  sta- 
tion. The  other,  a  smaller  and  older  man,  stood 
entranced  while  I  recited  to  him  that  passage 
of  the  Saxon  Chronicle  which  begins,  "Then  came 
Leija  with  longships  forty-four,  and  the  fyrd 
went  out  against  him."  I  was  pointing  out  to 
him  that  the  Chronicle  had  been  written  partly  by 
the  monks  of  Saint  Alban's  and  afterwards  by 
those  of  Peterborough,  but  the  fellow  sprang  sud- 
denly over  a  gate  and  disappeared. 

The  village  of  Swinehurst  is  a  straggling  line 
of  half-timbered  houses  of  the  early  English  pat- 
tern. One  of  these  houses  stood,  as  I  observed, 
somewhat  taller  than  the  rest,  and  seeing  by  its 
appearance  and  by  the  sign  which  hung  before  it 
that  it  was  the  village  inn,  I  approached  it,  for 
indeed  I  had  not  broken  my  fast  since  I  had  left 
London.  A  stoutish  man,  five  foot  eight  perhaps 
in  height,  with  black  coat  and  trousers  of  a  grey- 
[164] 


BORROWED    SCENES 


ish  shade,  stood  outside,  and  to  him  I, talked  in 
the  fashion  of  the  master. 

"Why  a  rose  and  why  a  crown?"  I  asked  as 
I  pointed  upwards. 

He  looked  at  me  in  a  strange  manner.  The 
man's  whole  appearance  was  strange.  "Why 
not?"  he  answered,  and  shrank  a  little  backwards. 

"The  sign  of  a  king,"  said  I. 

"Surely,"  said  he.  "What  else  should  we  un- 
derstand from  a  crown?" 

"And  which  king?"  I  asked. 

"You  will  excuse  me,"  said  he,  and  tried  to 
pass. 

"Which  king?"  I  repeated. 

"How  should  I  know?"  he  asked. 

"You  should  know  by  the  rose,"  said  I,  "which 
is  the  symbol  of  that  Tudor-ap-Tudor,  who,  com- 
ing from  the  mountains  of  Wales,  yet  seated  his 
posterity  upon  the  English  throne.  Tudor,"  I 
continued,  getting  between  the  stranger  and  the 
door  of  the  inn,  through  which  he  appeared  to  be 
desirous  of  passing,  "was  of  the  same  blood  as 
Owen  Glendower,  the  famous  chieftain,  who  is 
by  no  means  to  be  confused  with  Owen  Gwynedd, 
the  father  of  Madoc  of  the  Sea,  of  whom  the  bard 

[165] 


BORROWED    SCENES 


made  the  famous  cnylyn,  which  runs  in  the  Welsh 
as  follows: — 

I  was  about  to  repeat  the  famous  stanza  of 
Dafydd-ap-Gwilyn  when  the  man,  who  had 
looked  very  fixedly  and  strangely  at  me  as  I 
spoke,  pushed  past  me  and  entered  the  inn. 
"Truly,"  said  I  aloud,  "it  is  surely  Swinehurst 
to  which  I  have  come,  since  the  same  means  the 
grove  of  the  hogs."  So  saying  I  followed  the 
fellow  into  the  bar  parlour,  where  I  perceived  him 
seated  in  a  corner  with  a  large  chair  in  front  of 
him.  Four  persons  of  various  degrees  were 
drinking  beer  at  a  central  table,  whilst  a  small 
man  of  active  build,  in  a  black,  shiny  suit,  which 
seemed  to  have  seen  much  service,  stood  before 
the  empty  fireplace.  Him  I  took  to  be  the  land- 
lord, and  I  asked  him  what  I  should  have  for  my 
dinner. 

He  smiled,  and  said  that  he  could  not  tell. 

"But  surely,  my  friend,"  said  I,  "you  can  tell 
me  what  is  ready?" 

"Even  that  I  cannot  do,"  he  answered;  "but 
I  doubt  not  that  the  landlord  can  inform  us." 
On  this  he  rang  the  bell,  and  a  fellow  answered, 
to  whom  I  put  the  same  question. 
[166] 


BORROWED    SCENES 


"What  would  you  have?"  he  asked. 

I  thought  of  the  master,  and  I  ordered  a  cold 
leg  of  pork  to  be  washed  down  with  tea  and  beer. 

"Did  you  say  tea  and  beer?"  asked  the  land- 
lord." 

"I  did." 

"For  twenty-five  years  have  I  been  in  busi- 
ness," said  the  landlord,  "and  never  before  have 
I  been  asked  for  tea  and  beer." 

"The  gentleman  is  joking,"  said  the  man  with' 
the  shining  coat. 

"Or  else "  said  the  elderly  man  in  the  cor- 
ner. 

"Or  what,  sir?"  I  asked. 

"Nothing,"  said  he— "nothing."  There  was 
something  very  strange  in  this  man  in  the  corner 
— him  to  whom  I  had  spoken  of  Dafydd-ap- 
Gwilyn. 

"Then  you  are  joking,"  said  the  landlord. 

I  asked  him  if  he  had  read  the  works  of  my 
master,  George  Borrow.  He  said  that  he  had 
not.  I  told  him  that  in  those  five  volumes  he 
would  not,  from  cover  to  cover,  find  one  trace 
of  any  sort  of  a  joke.  He  would  also  find  that 
my  master  drank  tea  and  beer  together.  Now  it 

[167] 


BORROWED   SCENES 


happens  that  about  tea  I  have  read  nothing  either 
in  the  sagas  or  in  the  bardic  cnylynions,  but, 
whilst  the  landlord  had  departed  to  prepare  my 
meal,  I  recited  to  the  company  those  Icelandic 
stanzas  which  praise  the  beer  of  Gunnar,  the  long- 
haired son  of  Harold  the  Bear.  Then,  lest  the 
language  should  be  unknown  to  some  of  them,  I 
recited  my  own  translation,  ending  with  the 
line — 

If  the  beer  be  small,  then  let  the  mug  be  large. 

I  then  asked  the  company  whether  they  went  to 
church  or  to  chapel.  The  question  surprised 
them,  and  especially  the  strange  man  in  the 
corner,  upon  whom  I  now  fixed  my  eye.  I  had 
read  his  secret,  and  as  I  looked  at  him  he  tried 
to  shrink  behind  the  clock-case. 

"The  church  or  the  chapel?"    I  asked  him. 

"The  church,"  he  gasped. 

"Which  church?"  I  asked. 

He  shrank  farther  behind  the  clock.    "I  have 
never  been  so  questioned,"  he  cried. 

I  showed  him  that  I  knew  his  secret.    "Rome 
was  not  built  in  a  day,"  said  I. 
[168] 


BORROWED    SCENES 


"He !  He !"  he  cried.  Then,  as  I  turned  away, 
he  put  his  head  from  behind  the  clockcase  and 
tapped  his  forehead  with  his  forefinger.  So  also 
did  the  man  with  the  shiny  coat,  who  stood  before 
the  empty  fireplace. 

Having  eaten  the  cold  leg  of  pork — where  is 
there  a  better  dish,  save  only  boiled  mutton  with 
capers? — and  having  drunk  both  the  tea  and  the 
beer,  I  told  the  company  that  such  a  meal  had 
been  called  "to  box  Harry"  by  the  master,  who 
had  observed  it  to  be  in  great  favour  with  com- 
mercial gentlemen  out  of  Liverpool.  With  this 
information  and  a  stanza  or  two  from  Lopez  de 
Vega  I  left  the  Inn  of  the  Rose  and  Crown  be- 
hind me,  having  first  paid  my  reckoning.  At  the 
door  the  landlord  asked  me  for  my  name  and 
address. 

"And  why?"  I  asked. 

"Lest  there  should  be  inquiry  for  you,"  said 
the  landlord. 

"But  why  should  they  inquire  for  me?" 

"Ah,  who  knows?"  said  the  landlord,  mus- 
ing. And  so  I  left  him  at  the  door  of  the  Inn 
of  the  Rose  and  Crown,  whence  came,  I  observed, 
a  great  tumult  of  laughter.  "Assuredly," 

[169]  ' 


BORROWED    SCENES 


thought  I,  "Rome  was  not  built  in  a  day." 
Having  walked  down  the  main  street  of  Swine- 
hurst,  which,  as  I  have  observed,  consists  of  half- 
timbered  buildings  in  the  ancient  style,  I  came 
out  upon  the  country  road,  and  proceeded  to  look 
for  those  wayside  adventures,  which  are,  accord- 
ing to  the  master,  as  thick  as  blackberries  for 
those  who  seek  them  upon  an  English  highway. 
I  had  already  received  some  boxing  lessons  be- 
fore leaving  London,  so  it  seemed  to  me  that  if  I 
should  chance  to  meet  some  traveller  whose  size 
and  age  seemed  such  as  to  encourage  the  venture 
I  would  ask  him  to  strip  off  his  coat  and  settle  any 
differences  which  we  could  find  in  the  old  English 
fashion.  I  waited,  therefore,  by  a  stile  for  any 
one  who  should  chance  to  pass,  and  it  was  while  I 
stood  there  that  the  screaming  horror  came  upon 
me,  even  as  it  came  upon  the  master  in  the  dingle. 
I  gripped  the  bar  of  the  stile,  which  was  of  good 
British  oak.  Oh,  who  can  tell  the  terrors  of  the 
screaming  horror!  That  was  what  I  thought  as 
I  grasped  the  oaken  bar  of  the  stile.  Was  it  the 
beer — or  was  it  the  tea?  Or  was  it  that  the  land- 
lord was  right  and  that  other,  the  man  with  the 
black,  shiny  coat,  he  who  had  answered  the  sign  of 
[170] 


BORROWED    SCENES 


the  strange  man  in  the  corner?  But  the  master 
drank  tea  with  beer.  Yes,  but  the  master  also  had 
the  screaming  horror.  All  this  I  thought  as  I 
grasped  the  bar  of  British  oak,  which  was  the  top 
of  the  stile.  For  half  an  hour  the  horror  was 
upon  me.  Then  it  passed,  and  I  was  left  feeling 
very  weak  and  still  grasping  the  oaken  bar. 

I  had  not  moved  from  the  stile,  where  I  had 
been  seized  by  the  screaming  horror,  when  I 
heard  the  sound  of  steps  behind  me,  and  turning 
round  I  perceived  that  a  pathway  led  across  the 
field  upon  the  farther  side  of  the  stile.  A  woman 
was  coming  towards  me  along  this  pathway,  and 
it  was  evident  to  me  that  she  was  one  of  those 
gipsy  Rias,  of  whom  the  master  has  said  so  much. 
Looking  beyond  her,  I  could  see  the  smoke  of  a 
fire  from  a  small  dingle,  which  showed  where  her 
tribe  were  camping.  The  woman  herself  was  of 
a  moderate  height,  neither  tall  nor  short,  with  a 
face  which  was  much  sunburned  and  freckled.  I 
must  confess  that  she  was  not  beautiful,  but  I  do 
not  think  that  anyone,  save  the  master,  has  found 
very  beautiful  women  walking  about  upon  the 
high-roads  of  England.  Such  as  she  was  I  must 
make  the  best  of  her,  and  well  I  knew  how  to  ad- 

[171] 


BORROWED   SCENES 


dress  her,  for  many  times  had  I  admired  the  mix- 
ture of  politeness  and  audacity  which  should  be 
used  in  such  a  case.  Therefore,  when  the  woman 
had  come  to  the  stile,  I  held  out  my  hand  and 
helped  her  over. 

"What  says  the  Spanish  poet  Calderon?"  said 
I.  "I  doubt  not  that  you  have  read  the  couplet 
which  has  been  thus  Englished: 

Oh,  maiden,  may  I  humbly  praj 
That  I  may  help  you  on  your  way." 

The  woman  blushed,  but  said  nothing. 

"Where,"  I  asked,  "are  the  Romany  chals  and 
the  Romany  chis?" 

She  turned  her  head  away  and  was  silent. 

"Though  I  am  a  gorgio,"  said  I,  "I  know  some- 
thing of  the  Romany  lil,"  and  to  prove  it  I  sang 
the  stanza — 

Coliko,  coliko  saulo  wer 
Apopli  to  the  farming  ker 
Will  wel  and  mang  him  mullo, 
Will  wel  and  mang  his  truppo. 

The  girl  laughed,  but  said  nothing.     It  ap- 
peared to  me  from  her  appearance  that  she  might 
[172] 


BORROWED    SCENES 


be  one  of  those  who  make  a  living  at  telling 
fortunes  or  "dukkering,"  as  the  master  calls  it, 
at  racecourses  and  other  gatherings  of  the  sort. 

"Do  you  dukker?"    I  asked. 

She  slapped  me  on  the  arm.  "Well,  you  are 
a  pot  of  ginger!"  said  she. 

I  was  pleased  at  the  slap,  for  it  put  me  in  mind 
of  the  peerless  Belle.  "You  can  use  Long  Mel- 
ford,"  said  I,  an  expression  which,  with  the 
master,  meant  fighting. 

"Get  along  with  your  sauce!"  said  she,  and 
struck  me  again. 

"You  are  a  very  fine  young  woman,"  said  I, 
"and  remind  me  of  Grunelda,  the  daughter  of 
Hjalmar,  who  stole  the  golden  bowl  from  the 
King  of  the  Islands." 

She  seemed  annoyed  at  this.  "You  keep  a 
civil  tongue,  young  man,"  said  she. 

"I  meant  no  harm,  Belle.  I  was  but  compar- 
ing you  to  one  of  whom  the  saga  says  her  eyes 
were  like  the  shine  of  sun  upon  icebergs." 

This  seemed  to  please  her,  for  she  smiled.  "My 
name  ain't  Belle,"  she  said  at  last. 

"What  is  your  name?" 

"Henrietta." 

[173] 


BORROWED    SCENES 


"The  name  of  a  queen,"  I  said  aloud. 

"Go  on,"  said  the  girl. 

"Of  Charles's  queen,"  said  I,  "of  whom  Wal- 
ler the  poet  ( for  the  English  also  have  their  poets, 
though  in  this  respect  far  inferior  to  the 
Basques) — of  whom,  I  say,  Waller  the  poet  said: 

That  she  was  Queen  was  the  Creator's  act, 
Belated  man  could  but  endorse  the  fact." 

"I  say!"  cried  the  girl.    "How  you  do  go  on!" 

"So  now,"  said  I,  "since  I  have  shown  you  that 
you  are  a  queen  you  will  surely  give  me  a 
choomer,"  this  being  a  kiss  in  Romany  talk. 

"I'll  give  you  one  on  the  ear-hole,"  she  cried. 

"Then  I  will  wrestle  with  you,"  said  I.  "If 
you  should  chance  to  put  me  down,  I  will  do  pen- 
ance by  teaching  you  the  Armenian  alphabet — 
the  very  word  alphabet,  as  you  will  perceive, 
shows  us  that  our  letters  came  from  Greece.  If, 
on  the  other  hand,  I  should  chance  to  put  you 
down,  you  will  give  me  a  choomer." 

I  had  got  so  far,  and  she  was  climbing  the  stile 
with  some  pretence  of  getting  away  from  me, 
when  there  came  a  van  along  the  road,  belong- 
[174] 


BORROWED    SCENES 


ing,  as  I  discovered,  to  a  baker  in  Swinehurst. 
The  horse,  which  was  of  a  brown  colour,  was 
such  as  is  bred  in  the  New  Forest,  being  some- 
what under  fifteen  hands  and  of  a  hairy,  ill- 
kempt  variety.  As  I  know  less  than  the  master 
about  horses,  I  will  say  no  more  of  this  horse, 
save  to  repeat  that  its  colour  was  brown — nor  in- 
deed had  the  horse  or  the  horse's  colour  anything 
to  do  with  my  narrative.  I  might  add,  however, 
that  it  could  either  be  taken  as  a  small  horse  or 
as  a  large  pony,  being  somewhat  tall  for  the  one, 
but  undersized  for  the  other.  I  have  now  said 
enough  about  this  horse,  which  has  nothing  to  do 
with  my  story,  and  I  will  turn  my  attention  to  the 
driver. 

This  was  a  man  with  a  broad,  florid  face  and 
brown  side-whiskers.  He  was  of  a  stout  build 
and  had  rounded  shoulders,  with  a  small  mole  of 
a  reddish  colour  over  his  left  eyebrow.  His 
jacket  was  of  velveteen,  and  he  had  large,  iron- 
shod  boots,  which  were  perched  upon  the  splash- 
board in  front  of  him.  He  pulled  up  the  van  as 
he  came  up  to  the  stile  near  which  I  was  standing 
with  the  maiden  who  had  come  from  the  dingle, 
and  in  a  civil  fashion  he  asked  me  if  I  could  oblige 

[175] 


BORROWED    SCENES 


him  with  a  light  for  his  pipe.  Then,  as  I  drew 
a  matchbox  from  my  pocket,  he  threw  his  reins 
over  the  splashboard,  and  removing  his  large, 
iron-shod  boots  he  descended  on  to  the  road.  He 
was  a  burly  man,  but  inclined  to  fat  and  scant  of 
breath.  It  seemed  to  me  that  it  was  a  chance  for 
one  of  those  wayside  boxing  adventures  which 
were  so  common  in  the  olden  times.  It  was  my 
intention  that  I  should  fight  the  man,  and  that  the 
maiden  from  the  dingle  standing  by  me  should 
tell  me  when  to  use  my  right  or  my  left,  as  the 
case  might  be,  picking  me  up  also  in  case  I 
should  be  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  knocked  down 
by  the  man  with  the  iron-shod  boots  and  the  small 
mole  of  a  reddish  colour  over  his  left  eyebrow. 

"Do  you  use  Long  Melford?"  I  asked. 

He  looked  at  me  in  some  surprise,  and  said  that 
any  mixture  was  good  enough  for  him. 

"By  Long  Melford/'  said  I,  "I  do  not  mean, 
as  you  seem  to  think,  some  form  of  tobacco,  but 
I  mean  that  art  and  science  of  boxing  which  was 
held  in  such  high  esteem  by  our  ancestors,  that 
some  famous  professors  of  it,  such  as  the  great 
Gully,  have  been  elected  to  the  highest  offices  of 
the  State.  There  were  men  of  the  highest  char- 
[176] 


BORROWED    SCENES 


acter  amongst  the  bruisers  of  England,  of  whom 
I  would  particular  mention  Tom  of  Hereford, 
better  known  as  Tom  Spring,  though  his  father's 
name,  as  I  have  been  given  to  understand,  was 
Winter.  This,  however,  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  matter  in  hand,  which  is  that  you  must  fight 
me." 

The  man  with  the  florid  face  seemed  very  much 
surprised  at  my  words,  so  that  I  cannot  think  that 
adventures  of  this  sort  were  as  common  as  I  had 
been  led  by  the  master  to  expect. 

"Fight!"  said  he.    "What  about?" 

"It  is  a  good  old  English  custom,"  said  I,  "by 
which  we  may  determine  which  is  the  better  man." 

"I've  nothing  against  you,"  said  he. 

"Nor  I  against  you,"  I  answered.  "So  that  we 
will  fight  for  love,  which  was  an  expression  much 
used  in  olden  days.  It  is  narrated  by  Harold 
Sygvynson  that  among  the  Danes  it  was  usual 
to  do  so  even  with  battle-axes,  as  is  told  in  his 
second  set  of  runes.  Therefore  you  will  take  off 
your  coat  and  fight,"  As  I  spoke,  I  stripped  off 
my  own. 

The  man's  face  was  less  florid  than  before. 
"I'm  not  going  to  fight,"  said  he. 

[177] 


BORROWED   SCENES 


"Indeed  you  are,"  I  answered,  "and  this  young 
woman  will  doubtless  do  you  the  service  to  hold 
your  coat." 

"You're  clean  balmy,"  said  Henrietta. 

"Besides,"  said  I  if  you  will  not  fight  me  for 
love,  perhaps  you  will  fight  me  for  this,"  and  I 
held  out  a  sovereign.  "Will  you  hold  his  coat?" 
I  said  to  Henrietta. 

'Til  hold  the  thick  'un,"  said  she. 

"No,  you  don't,"  said  the  man,  and  put  the 
sovereign  into  the  pocket  of  his  trousers,  which 
were  of  a  corduroy  material.  "Now,"  said  he, 
"what  am  I  to  do  to  earn  this?" 

"Fight,"  said  I. 

"How  do  you  do  it?"  he  asked. 

"Put  up  your  hands,"  I  answered. 

He  put  them  up  as  I  had  said,  and  stood  there 
in  a  sheepish  manner  with  no  idea  of  anything 
further.  It  seemed  to  me  that  if  I  could  make 
him  angry  he  would  do  better,  so  I  knocked  off 
his  hat,  which  was  black  and  hard,  of  the  kind 
which  is  called  billy-cock. 

"Heh,  guv'nor!"  he  cried,  "what  are  you  up 
to?" 

[178] 


BORROWED   SCENES 


"That  was  to  make  you  angry,"  said  I. 

"Well,  I  am  angry,"  said  he. 

"Then  here  is  your  hat,"  said  I,  "and  after- 
wards we  shall  fight." 

I  turned  as  I  spoke  to  pick  up  his  hat,  which 
had  rolled  behind  where  I  was  standing.  As  I 
stooped  to  reach  it,  I  received  such  a  blow  that 
I  could  neither  rise  erect  nor  yet  sit  down.  This 
blow  which  I  received  as  I  stooped  for  his  billy- 
cock hat  was  not  from  his  fist,  but  from  his  iron- 
shod  boot,  the  same  which  I  had  observed  upon 
the  splashboard.  Being  unable  either  to  rise  erect 
or  yet  to  sit  down,  I  leaned  upon  the  oaken  bar 
of  the  stile  and  groaned  loudly  on  account  of  the 
pain  of  the  blow  which  I  had  received.  Even  the 
screaming  horror  had  given  me  less  pain  than  this 
blow  from  the  iron-shod  boot.  When  at  last  I 
was  able  to  stand  erect,  I  found  that  the  florid- 
faced  man  had  driven  away  with  his  cart,  which 
could  no  longer  be  seen.  The  maiden  from  the 
dingle  was  standing  at  the  other  side  of  the  stile, 
and  a  ragged  man  was  running  across  the  field 
from  the  direction  of  the  fire. 

"Why  did  you  not  warn  me,  Henrietta?"  I 
asked. 

[179] 


BORROWED    SCENES 


"I  hadn't  time,"  said  she.  "Why  were  you  such 
a  chump  as  to  turn  your  back  on  him  like  that?" 

The  ragged  man  had  reached  us,  wherel  stood 
talking  to  Henrietta  by  the  stile.  I  will  not  try 
to  write  his  conversation  as  he  said  it,  because  I 
have  observed  that  the  master  never  condescends 
to  dialect,  but  prefers  by  a  word  introduced  here 
and  there  to  show  the  fashion  of  a  man's  speech. 
I  will  only  say  that  the  man  from  the  dingle  spoke 
as  did  the  Anglo-Saxons,  who  were  wont,  as  is 
clearly  shown  by  the  venerable  Bede,  to  call  their 
leaders,  'Enjist  and  'Orsa,  two  words  which  in 
their  proper  meaning  signify  a  horse  and  a  mare. 

"What  did  he  hit  you  for?"  asked  the  man 
from  the  dingle.  He  was  exceedingly  ragged, 
with  a  powerful  frame,  a  lean  brown  face,  and  an 
oaken  cudgel  in  his  hand.  His  voice  was  very 
hoarse  and  rough,  as  is  the  case  with  those  who 
live  in  the  open  air.  "The  bloke  hit  you,"  said  he. 
"What  did  the  bloke  hit  you  for?" 

"He  asked  him  to,"  said  Henrietta. 

"Asked  him  to — asked  him  what?" 

"Why,  he  asked  him  to  hit  him.  Gave  him  a 
thick  'un  to  do  it." 

The  ragged  man  seemed  surprised.  "See  here, 
[180] 


BORROWED    SCENES 


gov'nor,"  said  he.  "If  you're  collectin',  I  could 
let  you  have  one  half-price." 

"He  took  me  unawares,"  said  I. 

"What  else  would  the  bloke  do  when  you 
bashed  his  hat?"  said  the  maiden  from  the  dingle. 

By  this  time  I  was  able  to  straighten  myself 
up  by  the  aid  of  the  oaken  bar  which  formed  the 
top  of  the  stile.  Having  quoted  a  few  lines  of 
the  Chinese  poet  Lo-tun-an  to  the  effect  that, 
however  hard  a  knock  might  be,  it  might  always 
conceivably  be  harder,  I  looked  about  for  my 
coat,  but  could  by  no  means  find  it. 

"Henrietta,"  I  said,  "what  have  you  done  with 
my  coat?" 

"Look  here,  gov'nor,"  said  the  man  from  the 
dingle,  "not  so  much  Henrietta,  if  it's  the  same 
to  you.  This  woman's  my  wife.  Who  are  you  to 
call  her  Henrietta?" 

I  assured  the  man  from  the  dingle  that  I  had 
meant  no  disrespect  to  his  wife.  "I  had  thought 
she  was  a  mort,"  said  I ;  "but  the  ria  of  a  Romany 
chal  is  always  sacred  to  me." 

"Clean  balmy,"  said  the  woman. 

"Some  other  day,"  said  I,  "I  may  visit  you 

[181] 


BORROWED    SCENES 


in  your  camp  in  the  dingle  and  read  you  the 
master's  book  about  the  Romanys." 

"What's  Romanys?"  asked  the  man. 

Myself.     Romanys  are  gipsies. 

The  Man.     We  ain't  gipsies. 

Myself.     What  are  you  then? 

The  Man.     We  are  hoppers. 

Myself  (to  Henrietta).  Then  how  did  you 
understand  all  I  have  said  to  you  about  gipsies? 

Henrietta.     I  didn't. 

I  again  asked  for  my  coat,  but  it  was  clear  now 
that  before  offering  to  fight  the  florid-faced  man 
with  the  mole  over  his  left  eyebrow  I  must  have 
hung  my  coat  upon  the  splashboard  of  his  van. 
I  therefore  recited  a  verse  from  Ferideddin-Atar, 
the  Persian  poet,  which  signifies  that  it  is  more 
important  to  preserve  your  skin  than  your  clothes, 
and  bidding  farewell  to  the  man  from  the  dingle 
and  his  wife  I  returned  into  the  old  English  vil- 
lage of  Swinehurst,  where  I  was  able  to  buy  a  sec- 
ond-hand coat,  which  enabled  me  to  make  my 
way  to  the  station,  where  I  should  start  for  Lon- 
don. I  could  not  but  remark  with  some  surprise 
that  I  was  followed  to  the  station  by  many  of  the 
[182] 


BORROWED    SCENES 


villagers,  together  with  the  man  with  the  shiny 
coat,  and  that  other,  the  strange  man,  he  who  had 
slunk  behind  the  clock-case.  From  time  to  time 
I  turned  and  approached  them,  hoping  to  fall  into 
conversation  with  them;  but  as  I  did  so  they 
would  break  and  hasten  down  the  road.  Only 
the  village  constable  came  on,  and  he  walked  by 
my  side  and  listened  while  I  told  him  the  history 
of  Hunyadi  Janos  and  the  events  which  occurred 
during  the  wars  between  that  hero,  known  also  as 
Corvinus  or  the  crow-like,  and  Mahommed  the 
second,  he  who  captured  Constantinople,  better 
known  as  Byzantium,  before  the  Christian  epoch. 
Together  with  the  constable  I  entered  the  station, 
and  seating  myself  in  a  carriage  I  took  paper 
from  my  pocket  and  I  began  to  write  upon  the 
paper  all  that  had  occurred  to  me,  in  order  that  I 
might  show  that  it  was  not  easy  in  these  days  to 
follow  the  example  of  the  master.  As  I  wrote,  I 
heard  the  constable  talk  to  the  station-master,  a 
stout,  middle-sized  man  with  a  red  neck-tie,  and 
tell  him  of  my  own  adventures  in  the  old  English 
village  of  Swinehurst. 

"He  is  a  gentleman  too,"  said  the  constable, 

[183] 


BORROWED   SCENES 


"and  I  doubt  not  that  he  lives  in  a  big  house  in 
London  town." 

"A  very  big  house  if  every  man  had  his  rights," 
said  the  station-master,  and  waving  his  hand  he 
signalled  that  the  train  should  proceed. 


[184] 


VII 

THE  SURGEON  OF  GASTER 
FELL 

I. — HOW  THE  WOMAN  CAME  TO  KIRKBY- 
MALHOUSE 


BLEAK  and  wind-swept  is  the  little  town  of 
Kirkby-Malhouse,  harsh  and  forbidding  are 
the  fells  upon  which  it  stands.  It  stretches  in  a 
single  line  of  grey-stone,  slate-roofed  houses, 
dotted  down  the  furze-clad  slope  of  the  rolling 
moor. 

In  this  lonely  and  secluded  village,  I,  James 
Upperton,  found  myself  in  the  summer  of  '85. 
Little  as  the  hamlet  had  to  offer,  it  contained  that 
for  which  I  yearned  above  all  things — seclusion 
and  freedom  from  all  which  might  distract  my 
mind  from  the  high  and  weighty  subjects  which 
engaged  it.  But  the  inquisitiveness  of  my  land- 

[185] 


THE   SURGEON    OF   CASTER  FELL 


lady  made  my  lodgings  undesirable  and  I  deter- 
mined to  seek  new  quarters. 

As  it  chanced,  I  had  in  one  of  my  rambles  come 
upon  an  isolated  dwelling  in  the  very  heart  of 
these  lonely  moors,  which  I  at  once  determined 
should  be  my  own.  It  was  a  two-roomed  cot- 
tage, which  had  once  belonged  to  some  shepherd, 
but  had  long  been  deserted,  and  was  crumbling 
rapidly  to  ruin.  In  the  winter  floods,  the  Gaster 
Beck,  which  runs  down  Gaster  Fell,  where  the 
little  dwelling  stood,  had  overswept  its  banks  and 
torn  away  a  part  of  the  wall.  The  roof  was  in  ill 
case,  and  the  scattered  slates  lay  thick  amongst 
the  grass.  Yet  the  main  shell  of  the  house  stood 
firm  and  true;  and  it  was  no  great  task  for  me 
to  have  all  that  was  amiss  set  right. 

The  two  rooms  I  laid  out  in  a  widely  different 
manner — my  own  tastes  are  of  a  Spartan  turn, 
and  the  outer  chamber  was  so  planned  as  to  ac- 
cord with  them.  An  oil-stove  by  Rippingille  of 
Birmingham  furnished  me  with  the  means  of 
cooking;  while  two  great  bags,  the  one  of  flour, 
and  the  other  of  potatoes,  made  me  partly  inde- 
pendent of  supplies  from  without.  In  diet  I  had 
[186] 


THE   SURGEON    OF   GASTER   FELL 


long  been  a  Pythagorean,  so  that  the  scraggy, 
long-limbed  sheep  which  browsed  upon  the  wiry 
grass  by  the  Gaster  Beck  had  little  to  fear  from 
their  new  companion.  A  nine-gallon  cask  of  oil 
served  me  as  a  sideboard ;  while  a  square  table,  a 
deal  chair  and  a  truckle-bed  completed  the  list  of 
my  domestic  fittings.  At  the  head  of  my  couch 
hung  two  unpainted  shelves — the  lower  for  my 
dishes  and  cooking  utensils,  the  upper  for  the  few 
portraits  which  took  me  back  to  the  little  that  was 
pleasant  in  the  long,  wearisome  toiling  for  wealth 
and  for  pleasure  which  had  marked  the  life  I  had 
left  behind. 

If  this  dwelling-room  of  mine  were  plain  even 
to  squalor,  its  poverty  was  more  than  atoned  for 
by  the  luxury  of  the  chamber  which  was  destined 
to  serve  me  as  my  study.  I  had  ever  held  that  it 
was  best  for  my  mind  to  be  surrounded  by  such 
objects  as  would  be  in  harmony  with  the  studies 
which  occupied  it,  and  that  the  loftiest  and  most 
ethereal  conditions  of  thought  are  only  possible 
amid  surroundings  which  please  the  eye  and 
gratify  the  senses.  The  room  which  I  had  set 
apart  for  my  mystic  studies  was  set  forth  in  a 
style  as  gloomy  and  majestic  as  the  thoughts  and 

[187] 


THE   SURGEON   OF   GASTER   FELL 


aspirations  with  which  it  was  to  harmonise.  Both 
walls  and  ceilings  were  covered  with  a  paper  of 
the  richest  and  glossiest  black,  on  which  was 
traced  a  lurid  and  arabesque  pattern  of  dead  gold. 
A- black  velvet  curtain  covered  the  single  dia- 
mond-paned  window,  while  a  thick,  yielding 
carpet  of  the  same  material  prevented  the  sound 
of  my  own  footfalls,  as  I  paced  backward  and 
forward,  from  breaking  the  current  of  my 
thought.  Along  the  cornices  ran  gold  rods,  from 
which  depended  six  pictures,  all  of  the  sombre 
and  imaginative  caste,  which  chimed  best  with  my 
fancy. 

And  yet  it  was  destined  that  ere  ever  I  reached 
this  quiet  harbour  I  should  learn  that  I  was  still 
one  of  humankind,  and  that  it  is  an  ill  thing  to 
strive  to  break  the  bond  which  binds  us  to  our 
fellows.  It  was  but  two  nights  before  the  date 
I  had  fixed  upon  for  my  change  of  dwelling,  when 
I  was  conscious  of  a  bustle  in  the  house  beneath, 
with  the  bearing  of  heavy  burdens  up  the  creaking 
stair,  and  the  harsh  voice  of  my  landlady,  loud 
in  welcome  and  protestations  of  joy.  From  time 
to  time,  amid  the  whirl  of  words,  I  could  hear  a 
gentle  and  softly  modulated  voice,  which  struck 
[188] 


THE   SURGEON    OF  CASTER   FELL 


pleasantly  upon  my  ear  after  the  long  weeks  dur- 
ing which  I  had  listened  only  to  the  rude  dialect 
of  the  dalesmen.  For  an  hour  I  could  hear  the 
dialogue  beneath — the  high  voice  and  the  low, 
with  clatter  of  cup  and  clink  of  spoon,  until  at 
last  a  light,  quick  step  passed  my  study  door,  and 
I  knew  that  my  new  fellow  lodger  had  sought 
her  room. 

On  the  morning  after  this  incident  I  was  up 
betimes,  as  is  my  wont;  but  I  was  surprised,  on 
glancing  from  my  window,  to  see  that  our  new  in- 
mate was  earlier  still.  She  was  walking  down 
the  narrow  pathway,  which  zigzags  over  the  fell 
— a  tall  woman,  slender,  her  head  sunk  upon  her 
breast,  her  arms  filled  with  a  bristle  of  wild 
flowers,  which  she  had  gathered  in  her  morning 
rambles.  The  white  and  pink  of  her  dress,  and 
the  touch  of  deep  red  ribbon  in  her  broad  droop- 
ing hat,  formed  a  pleasant  dash  of  colour  against 
the  dun-tinted  landscape.  She  was  some  distance 
off  when  I  first  set  eyes  upon  her,  yet  I  knew  that 
this  wandering  woman  could  be  none  other  than 
our  arrival  of  last  night,  for  there  was  a  grace 
and  refinement  in  her  bearing  which  marked 
her  from  the  dwellers  of  the  fells.  Even  as  I 

[189] 


THE   SURGEON   OF  GASTER  FELL 


watched,  she  passed  swiftly  and  lightly  down  the 
pathway,  and  turning  through  the  wicket  gate,  at 
the  further  end  of  our  cottage  garden,  she  seated 
herself  upon  the  green  bank  which  faced  my  win- 
dow, and  strewing  her  flowers  in  front  of  her,  set 
herself  to  arrange  them. 

As  she  sat  there,  with  the  rising  sun  at  her  back, 
and  the  glow  of  the  morning  spreading  like  an 
aureole  around  her  stately  and  well-poised  head, 
I  could  see  that  she  was  a  woman  of  extra- 
ordinary personal  beauty.  Her  face  was  Spanish 
rather  than  English  in  its  type — oval,  olive,  with 
black,  sparkling  eyes,  and  a  sweetly  sensitive 
mouth.  From  under  the  broad  straw  hat  two 
thick  coils  of  blue-black  hair  curved  down  on 
either  side  of  her  graceful,  queenly  neck.  I  was 
surprised,  as  I  watched  her,  to  see  that  her  shoes 
and  skirt  bore  witness  to  a  journey  rather  than  to 
a  mere  morning  ramble.  Her  light  dress  was 
stained,  wet  and  bedraggled ;  while  her  boots  were 
thick  with  the  yellow  soil  of  the  fells.  Her  face, 
too,  wore  a  weary  expression,  and  her  young 
beauty  seemed  to  be  clouded  over  by  the  shadow 
of  inward  trouble.  Even  as  I  watched  her,  she 
burst  suddenly  into  wild  weeping,  and  throwing 
[190] 


THE   SURGEON    OF    GASTER   FELL 


down  her  bundle  of  flowers  ran  swiftly  into  the 
house. 

Distrait  as  I  was  and  weary  of  the  ways  of  the 
world,  I  was  conscious  of  a  sudden  pang  of 
sympathy  and  grief  as  I  looked  upon  the  spasm 
of  despair  which  seemed  to  convulse  this  strange 
and  beautiful  woman.  I  bent  to  my  books,  and 
yet  my  thoughts  would  ever  turn  to  her  proud 
clear-cut  face,  her  weather-stained  dress,  her 
drooping  head,  and  the  sorrow  which  lay  in  each 
line  and  feature  of  her  pensive  face. 

Mrs.  Adams,  my  landlady,  was  wont  to  carry 
up  my  frugal  breakfast;  yet  it  was  very  rarely 
that  I  allowed  her  to  break  the  current  of  my 
thoughts,  or  to  draw  my  mind  by  her  idle  chatter 
from  weightier  things.  This  morning,  however, 
for  once,  she  found  me  in  a  listening  mood,  and 
with  little  prompting,  proceeded  to  pour  into  my 
ears  all  that  she  knew  of  our  beautiful  visitor. 

"Miss  Eva  Cameron  be  her  name,  sir,"  she 
said:  "but  who  she  be,  or  where  she  came  fra, 
I  know  little  more  than  yoursel'.  Maybe  it  was 
the  same  reason  that  brought  her  to  Kirkby-Mal- 
house  as  fetched  you  there  yoursel',  sir." 

"Possibly,"  said  I,  ignoring  the  covert  ques- 

[191] 


THE   SURGEON   OF   GASTER  FELL 


tion;  "but  I  should  hardly  have  thought  that 
Kirkby-Malhouse  was  a  place  which  offered  any 
great  attractions  to  a  young  lady." 

"Heh,  sir!"  she  cried,  "there's  the  wonder  of 
it.  The  leddy  has  just  come  fra  France;  and 
how  her  folk  come  to  learn  of  me  is  just  a  wonder. 
A  week  ago,  up  comes  a  man  to  my  door — a  fine 
man,  sir,  and  a  gentleman,  as  one  could  see  with 
half  an  eye.  'You  are  Mrs.  Adams,'  says  he. 
'I  engage  your  rooms  for  Miss  Cameron,'  says  he. 
'She  will  be  here  in  a  week,'  says  he;  and  then  off 
without  a  word  of  terms.  Last  night  there  comes 
the  young  leddy  hersel' — soft-spoken  and  down- 
cast, with  a  touch  of  the  French  in  her  speech. 
But  my  sakes,  sir!  I  must  away  and  mak'  her 
some  tea,  for  she'll  feel  lonesome-like,  poor  lamb, 
when  she  wakes  under  a  strange  roof." 

II. HOW  I  WENT  FORTH  TO  CASTER  FELL 

I  was  still  engaged  upon  my  breakfast  when  I 
heard  the  clatter  of  dishes  and  the  landlady's 
footfall  as  she  passed  toward  her  new  lodger's 
room.  An  instant  afterward  she  had  rushed 
down  the  passage  and  burst  in  upon  me  with  up- 
[192] 


THE   SURGEON    OF   CASTER   FELL 


lifted  hand  and  startled  eyes.  "Lord  'a  mercy, 
sir!"  she  cried,  "and  asking  your  pardon  for 
troubling  you,  but  I'm  feared  o'  the  young  leddy, 
sir;  she  is  not  in  her  room." 

"Why,  there  she  is,"  said  I,  standing  up  and 
glancing  through  the  casement.  "She  has  gone 
back  for  the  flowers  she  left  upon  the  bank." 

"Oh,  sir,  see  her  boots  and  her  dress!"  cried  the 
landlady,  wildly.  "I  wish  her  mother  was  here, 
sir — I  do.  Where  she  has  been  is  more  than  I 
ken,  but  her  bed  has  not  been  lain  on  this 
night." 

"She  has  felt  restless,  doubtless,  and  went  for 
a  walk,  though  the  hour  was  certainly  a  strange 
one." 

Mrs.  Adams  pursed  her  lip  and  shook  her  head. 
But  then  as  she  stood  at  the  casement,  the  girl  be- 
neath looked  smilingly  up  at  her  and  beckoned 
to  her  with  a  merry  gesture  to  open  the  window. 

"Have  you  my  tea  there?"  she  asked  in  a  rich, 
clear  voice,  with  a  touch  of  the  mincing  French 
accent. 

"It  is  in  your  room,  miss." 

"Look  at  my  boots,  Mrs.  Adams!"  she  cried, 
thrusting  them  out  from  under  her  skirt.  "These 

[193] 


THE    SURGEON    OF   GASTEE   FELL 


fells  of  yours  are  dreadful  places — effroyable — 
one  inch,  two  inch;  never  have  I  seen  such  mud! 
My  dress,  too — voila!" 

"Eh,  miss,  but  you  are  in  a  pickle,"  cried  the 
landlady,  as  she  gazed  down  at  the  bedraggled 
gown.  "But  you  must  be  main  weary  and  heavy 
for  sleep." 

"No,  no,"  she  answered,  laughingly,  "I  care 
not  for  sleep.  What  is  sleep?  it  is  a  little  death 
— voild  tout.  But  for  me  to  walk,  to  run,  to 
breathe  the  air — that  is  to  live.  I  was  not  tired, 
and  so  all  night  I  have  explored  these  fells  of 
Yorkshire." 

"Lord  'a  mercy,  miss,  and  where  did  you  go?'! 
asked  Mrs.  Adams. 

She  waved  her  hand  round  in  a  sweeping  ges- 
ture which  included  the  whole  western  horizon. 
"There,"  she  cried.  "O  comme  elles  sont  tristes 
et  sauvages,  ces  collines!  But  I  have  flowers 
here.  You  will  give  me  water,  will  you  not? 
They  will  wither  else."  She  gathered  her  treas- 
ures in  her  lap,  and  a  moment  later  we  heard 
her  light,  springy  footfall  upon  the  stair. 

So  she  had  been  out  all  night,  this  strange 
woman.  What  motive  could  have  taken  her  from 
[194] 


THE    SURGEON    OF   CASTER   FELL 


her  snug  room  on  to  the  bleak,  wind-swept  hills? 
Could  it  be  merely  the  restlessness,  the  love  of 
adventure  of  a  young  girl?  Or  was  there,  pos- 
sibly, some  deeper  meaning  in  this  nocturnal 
journey? 

Deep  as  were  the  mysteries  which  my  studies 
had  taught  me  to  solve,  here  was  a  human  prob- 
lem which  for  the  moment  at  least  was  beyond  my 
comprehension.  I  had  walked  out  on  the  moor  in 
the  forenoon,  and  on  my  return,  as  I  topped  the 
brow  that  overlooks  the  little  town,  I  saw  my  fel- 
low-lodger some  little  distance  off  among  the 
gorse.  She  had  raised  a  light  easel  in  front  of  her, 
and  with  papered  board  laid  across  it,  was  pre- 
paring to  paint  the  magnificent  landscape  of  rock 
and  moor  which  stretched  away  in  front  of  her. 
As  I  watched  her  I  saw  that  she  was  looking 
anxiously  to  right  and  left.  Close  by  me  a  pool 
of  water  had  formed  in  a  hollow.  Dipping  the 
cup  of  my  pocket-flask  into  it,  I  carried  it  across 
to  her. 

"Miss  Cameron,  I  believe,"  said  I.  "I  am  your 
fellow-lodger.  Upperton  is  my  name.  We  must 
introduce  ourselves  in  these  wilds  if  we  are  not  to 
be  for  ever  strangers." 

[195] 


THE   SURGEON   OF   GASTER  FELL 


"Oh,  then,  you  live  also  with  Mrs.  Adams!" 
she  cried.  "I  had  thought  that  there  were  none 
but  peasants  in  this  strange  place." 

"I  am  a  visitor,  like  yourself,"  I  answered. 
"I  am  a  student,  and  have  come  for  quiet  and 
repose,  which  my  studies  demand." 

"Quiet,  indeed!"  said  she,  glancing  round  at 
the  vast  circle  of  silent  moors,  with  the  one  tiny 
line  of  grey  cottages  which  sloped  down  beneath 
us. 

"And  yet  not  quiet  enough,"  I  answered, 
laughing,  "for  I  have  been  forced  to  move  further 
into  the  fells  for  the  absolute  peace  which  I  re- 
quire." 

"Have  you,  then,  built  a  house  upon  the  fells?" 
she  asked,  arching  her  eyebrows. 

"I  have,  and  hope  within  a  few  days  to  occupy 
it." 

"Ah,  but  that  is  triste"  she  cried.  "And  where 
is  it,  then,  this  house  which  you  have  built?" 

"It  is  over  yonder,"  I  answered.  "See  that 
stream  which  lies  like  a  silver  band  upon  the  dis- 
tant moor?  It  is  the  Gaster  Beck,  and  it  runs 
through  Gaster  Fell." 

She  started,  and  turned  upon  me  her  great 
[196] 


THE   SURGEON   OF   GASTEE   FELL 


dark,  questioning  eyes  with  a  look  in  which  sur- 
prise, incredulity,  and  something  akin  to  horror 
seemed  to  be  struggling  for  mastery. 

"And  you  will  live  on  the  Gaster  Fell?"  she 
cried. 

"So  I  have  planned.  But  what  do  you  know  of 
Gaster  Fell,  Miss  Cameron?"  I  asked.  "I  had 
thought  that  you  were  a  stranger  in  these  parts." 

"Indeed,  I  have  never  been  here  before,"  she 
answered.  "But  I  have  heard  my  brother  talk 
of  these  Yorkshire  moors ;  and,  if  I  mistake  not, 
I  have  heard  him  name  this  very  one  as  the  wildest 
and  most  savage  of  them  all." 

"Very  likely,"  said  I,  carelessly.  "It  is  indeed 
a  dreary  place. 

"Then  why  live  there?"  she  cried,  eagerly. 
"Consider  the  loneliness,  the  barrenness,  the  want 
of  all  comfort  and  of  all  aid,  should  aid  be 
needed." 

"Aid!  What  aid  should  be  needed  on  Gaster 
Fell?" 

She  looked  down  and  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
"Sickness  may  come  in  all  places,"  said  she.  "If 
I  were  a  man  I  do  not  think  I  would  live  alone  on 
Gaster  Fell." 

[197] 


THE    SURGEON    OF   GASTEB   FELL 


"I  have  braved  worse  dangers  than  that,"  said 
I,  laughing;  "but  I  fear  that  your  picture  will  be 
spoiled,  for  the  clouds  are  banking  up,  and  al- 
ready I  feel  a  few  raindrops." 

Indeed,  it  was  high  time  we  were  on  our  way  to 
shelter,  for  even  as  I  spoke  there  came  the  sud- 
den, steady  swish  of  the  shower.  Laughing  mer- 
rily, my  companion  threw  her  light  shawl  over 
her  head,  and,  seizing  picture  and  easel,  ran 
with  the  lithe  grace  of  a  young  fawn  down  the 
furze-clad  slope,  while  I  followed  after  with 
camp-stool  and  paint-box. 


It  was  the  eve  of  my  departure  from  Kirkby- 
Malhouse  that  we  sat  upon  the  green  bank  in  the 
garden,  she  with  dark  dreamy  eyes  looking  sadly 
out  over  the  sombre  fells;  while  I,  with  a  book 
upon  my  knee,  glanced  covertly  at  her  lovely 
profile  and  marvelled  to  myself  how  twenty  years 
of  life  could  have  stamped  so  sad  and  wistful  an 
expression  upon  it. 

"You  have  read  much,"  I  remarked  at  last. 
"Women  have  opportunities  now  such  as  their 
mothers  never  knew.  Have  you  ever  thought  of 
[198] 


THE   SURGEON   OF   GASTER   FELL 


going  further — or  seeking  a  course  of  college  or 
even  a  learned  profession?" 

She  smiled  wearily  at  the  thought. 

"I  have  no  aim,  no  ambition,"  she  said.  "My 
future  is  black — confused — a  chaos.  My  life  is 
like  to  one  of  these  paths  upon  the  fells.  You 
have  seen  them,  Monsieur  Upperton.  They  are 
smooth  and  straight  and  clear  where  they  begin; 
but  soon  they  wind  to  left  and  wind  to  right,  and 
so  mid  rocks  and  crags  until  they  lose  themselves 
in  some  quagmire.  At  Brussels  my  path  was 
straight;  but  now,  mon  Dieu!  who  is  there  can 
tell  me  where  it  leads?" 

"It  might  take  no  prophet  to  do  that,  Miss 
Cameron,"  quoth  I,  with  the  fatherly  manner 
which  twoscore  years  may  show  toward  one.  "If 
I  may  read  your  life,  I  would  venture  to  say  that 
you  were  destined  to  fulfil  the  lot  of  women — 
to  make  some  good  man  happy,  and  to  shed 
around,  in  some  wider  circle,  the  pleasure  which 
your  society  has  given  me  since  first  I  knew  you." 

"I  will  never  marry,"  said  she,  with  a  sharp 
decision,  which  surprised  and  somewhat  amused 
me. 

"Not  marry— and  why?" 

[199] 


THE   SURGEON    OF  GASTEB,  FELL 


A  strange  look  passed  over  her  sensitive  fea- 
tures, and  she  plucked  nervously  at  the  grass  on 
the  bank  beside  her. 

"I  dare  not,"  said  she  in  a  voice  that  quivered 
with  emotion. 

"Dare  not?" 

"It  is  not  for  me.  I  have  other  things  to  do. 
That  path  of  which  I  spoke  is  one  which  I  must 
tread  alone." 

"But  this  is  morbid,"  said  I.  "Why  should 
your  lot,  Miss  Cameron,  be  separate  from  that  of 
my  own  sisters,  or  the  thousand  other  young 
ladies  whom  every  season  brings  out  into  the 
world?  But  perhaps  it  is  that  you  have  a  fear 
and  distrust  of  mankind.  Marriage  brings  a  risk 
as  well  as  a  happiness." 

"The  risk  would  be  with  the  man  who  married 
me,"  she  cried.  And  then  in  an  instant,  as 
though  she  had  said  too  much,  she  sprung  to  her 
feet  and  drew  her  mantle  round  her.  "The  night 
air  is  chill,  Mr.  Upperton,"  said  she,  and  so  swept 
swiftly  away,  leaving  me  to  muse  over  the  strange 
words  which  had  fallen  from  her  lips. 

Clearly,  it  was  time  that  I  should  go.  I  set 
my  teeth  and  vowed  that  another  day  should  not 
[200] 


THE   SURGEON   OF   GASTER   FELL 


have  passed  before  I  should  have  snapped  this 
newly  formed  tie  and  sought  the  lonely  retreat 
which  awaited  me  upon  the  moors.  Breakfast 
was  hardly  over  in  the  morning  before  a  peasant 
dragged  up  to  the  door  the  rude  hand-cart  which 
was  to  convey  my  few  personal  belongings  to  my 
new  dwelling.  My  fellow-lodger  had  kept  her 
room;  and,  steeled  as  my  mind  was  against  her 
influence,  I  was  yet  conscious  of  a  little  throb 
of  disappointment  that  she  should  allow  me  to 
depart  without  a  word  of  farewell.  My  hand- 
cart with  its  load  of  books  had  already  started, 
and  I,  having  shaken  hands  with  Mrs.  Adams, 
was  about  to  follow  it,  when  there  was  a  quick 
scurry  of  feet  on  the  stair,  and  there  she  was 
beside  me  all  panting  with  her  own  haste. 

"Then  you  go — you  really  go?"  said  she. 

"My  studies  call  me." 

"And  to  Caster  Fell?"  she  asked. 

"Yes;  to  the  cottage  which  I  have  built  there." 

"And  you  will  live  alone  there?" 

"With  my  hundred  companions  who  lie  in  that 
cart." 

"Ah,  books !"  she  cried,  with  a  pretty  shrug  of 

[201] 


THE   SURGEON   OF  CASTER   FELL 


her  graceful  shoulders.  "But  you  will  make  me 
a  promise?" 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked,  in  surprise. 

"It  is  a  small  thing.     You  will  not  refuse  me?" 

"You  have  but  to  ask  it." 

She  bent  forward  her  beautiful  face  with  an 
expression  of  the  most  intense  earnestness.  "You 
will  bolt  your  door  at  night?"  said  she;  and  was 
gone  ere  I  could  say  a  word  in  answer  to  her 
extraordinary  request. 

It  was  a  strange  thing  for  me  to  find  myself 
at  last  duly  installed  in  my  lonely  dwelling.  For 
me,  now,  the  horizon  was  bounded  by  the  barren 
circle  of  wiry,  unprofitable  grass,  patched  over 
with  furze  bushes  and  scarred  by  the  profusion 
of  Nature's  gaunt  and  granite  ribs.  A  duller, 
wearier  waste  I  have  never  seen;  but  its  dulness 
was  its  very  charm. 

And  yet  the  very  first  night  which  I  spent  at 
Gaster  Fell  there  came  a  strange  incident  to 
lead  my  thoughts  back  once  more  to  the  world 
which  I  have  left  behind  me. 

It  had  been  a  sullen  and  sultry  evening,  with 
great  livid  cloud-banks  mustering  in  the  west. 
As  the  night  wore  on,  the  air  within  my  little 
[202] 


THE   SURGEON    OF   CASTER   FELL 


cabin  became  closer  and  more  oppressive.  A 
weight  seemed  to  rest  upon  my  brow  and  my 
chest.  From  far  away  the  low  rumble  of  thunder 
came  moaning  over  the  moor.  Unable  to  sleep, 
I  dressed,  and  standing  at  my  cottage  door, 
looked  on  the  black  solitude  which  surrounded 
me. 

Taking  the  narrow  sheep  path  which  ran  by 
this  stream,  I  strolled  along  it  for  some  hundred 
yards,  and  had  turned  to  retrace  my  steps,  when 
the  moon  was  finally  buried  beneath  an  ink-black 
cloud,  and  the  darkness  deepened  so  suddenly  that 
I  could  see  neither  the  path  at  my  feet,  the  stream 
upon  my  right,  nor  the  rocks  upon  my  left. 
I  was  standing  groping  about  in  the  thick  gloom, 
when  there  came  a  crash  of  thunder  with  a  flash 
of  lightning  which  lighted  up  the  whole  vast  fell, 
so  that  every  bush  and  rock  stood  out  clear  and 
hard  in  the  vivid  light.  It  was  but  for  an  in- 
stant, and  yet  that  momentary  view  struck  a 
thrill  of  fear  and  astonishment  through  me,  for  in 
my  very  path,  not  twenty  yards  before  me,  there 
stood  a  woman,  the  livid  light  beating  upon  her 
face  and  showing  up  every  detail  of  her  dress 
and  features. 

[203] 


THE    SURGEON    OF   GASTER   FELL 


There  was  no  mistaking  those  dark  eyes,  that 
tall,  graceful  figure.  It  was  she — Eva  Cameron, 
the  woman  whom  I  thought  I  had  for  ever  left. 
For  an  instant  I  stood  petrified,  marvelling 
whether  this  could  indeed  be  she,  or  whether 
it  was  some  figment  conjured  up  by  my 
excited  brain.  Then  I  ran  swiftly  forward  in 
the  direction  where  I  had  seen  her,  calling  loud- 
ly upon  her,  but  without  reply.  Again  I  called, 
and  again  no  answer  came  back,  save  the  melan- 
choly wail  of  the  owl.  A  second  flash  illuminated 
the  landscape,  and  the  moon  burst  out  from  be- 
hind its  cloud.  But  I  could  not,  though  I  climbed 
upon  a  knoll  which  overlooked  the  whole  moor, 
see  any  sign  of  this  strange  midnight  wanderer. 
For  an  hour  or  more  I  traversed  the  fell,  and  at 
last  found  myself  back  at  my  little  cabin,  still 
uncertain  as  to  whether  it  had  been  a  woman  or 
a  shadow  upon  which  I  gazed. 

III. OF  THE  GREY  COTTAGE  IN  THE  GLEN 

It  was  either  on  the  fourth  or  the  fifth  day 

after   I   had   taken   possession   of  my  cottage 

that  I  was  astonished  to  hear  footsteps  upon  the 

grass  outside,  quickly  followed  by  a  crack,  as 

[204] 


THE   SURGEON    OF   CASTER   FELL 


from  a  stick  upon  the  door.  The  explosion  of 
an  infernal  machine  would  hardly  have  surprised 
or  discomfited  me  more.  I  had  hoped  to  have 
shaken  off  all  intrusion  for  ever,  yet  here  was 
somebody  beating  at  my  door  with  as  little  cere- 
mony as  if  it  had  been  a  village  ale-house.  Hot 
with  anger,  I  flung  down  my  book  and  withdrew 
the  bolt  just  as  my  visitor  had  raised  his  stick  to 
renew  his  rough  application  for  admittance.  He 
was  a  tall,  powerful  man,  tawny-bearded  and 
deep-chested,  clad  in  a  loose-fitting  suit  of  tweed, 
cut  for  comfort  rather  than  elegance.  As  he 
stood  in  the  shimmering  sunlight,  I  took  in  every 
feature  of  his  face.  The  large,  fleshy  nose ;  the 
steady  blue  eyes,  with  their  thick  thatch  of  over- 
hanging brows;  the  broad  forehead,  all  knitted 
and  lined  with  furrows,  which  were  strangely  at 
variance  with  his  youthful  bearing.  In  spite  of 
his  weather-stained  felt  hat,  and  the  coloured 
handkerchief  slung  round  his  muscular  brown 
neck,  I  could  see  at  a  glance  he  was  a  man  of 
breeding  and  education.  I  had  been  prepared 
for  some  wandering  shepherd  or  uncouth  tramp, 
but  this  apparition  fairly  disconcerted  me. 
"You  look  astonished,"  said  he,  with  a  smile. 

[205] 


THE   SURGEON   OF   GASTER  FELL 

"Did  you  think,  then,  that  you  were  the  only  man 
in  the  world  with  a  taste  for  solitude?  You  see 
that  there  are  other  hermits  in  the  wilderness 
besides  yourself." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  live  here?"  I 
asked  in  no  conciliatory  voice. 

"Up  yonder,"  he  answered,  tossing  his  head 
backward.  "I  thought  as  we  were  neighbours, 
Mr.  Upperton,  that  I  could  not  do  less  than  look 
in  and  see  if  I  could  assist  you  in  any  way." 

"Thank  you,"  I  said  coldly,  standing  with  my 
hand  upon  the  latch  of  the  door.  "I  am  a  man 
of  simple  tastes,  and  you  can  do  nothing  for  me. 
You  have  the  advantage  of  me  in  knowing  my 
name." 

He  appeared  to  be  chilled  by  my  ungracious 
manner. 

"I  learned  it  from  the  masons  who  were  at 
work  here,"  he  said.  "As  for  me,  I  am  a  surgeon, 
the  surgeon  of  Gaster  Fell.  That  is  the  name 
I  have  gone  by  in  these  parts,  and  it  serves  as 
well  as  another." 

"Not  much  room  for  practice  here?"  I  ob- 
served. 
[206] 


THE    SURGEON    OF   GASTER   FELL 


"Xot  a  soul  except  yourself  for  miles  on  either 
side." 

"You  appear  to  have  had  need  of  some  assist- 
ance yourself,"  I  remarked,  glancing  at  a  broad 
white  splash,  as  from  the  recent  action  of  some 
powerful  acid,  upon  his  sunburnt  cheek. 

"That  is  nothing,"  he  answered,  curtly,  turn- 
ing his  face  half  round  to  hide  the  mark.  "I 
must  get  back,  for  I  have  a  companion  who  is 
waiting  for  me.  If  I  can  ever  do  anything  for 
you,  pray  let  me  know.  You  have  only  to  follow 
the  beck  upward  for  a  mile  or  so  to  find  my  place. 
Have  you  a  bolt  on  the  inside  of  your  door?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  rather  startled  at  this 
question. 

"Keep  it  bolted,  then,"  he  said.  "The  fell  is 
a  strange  place.  You  never  know  who  may  be 
about.  It  is  as  well  to  be  on  the  safe  side.  Good- 
bye." He  raised  his  hat,  turned  on  his  heel  and 
lounged  away  along  the  bank  of  the  little  stream. 

I  was  still  standing  with  my  hand  upon  the 
latch,  gazing  after  my  unexpected  visitor,  when  I 
became  aware  of  yet  another  dweller  in  the 
wilderness.  Some  distance  along  the  path  which 
the  stranger  was  taking  there  lay  a  great  grey 

[207] 


THE   SURGEON    OF   CASTER   FELL 


boulder,  and  leaning  against  this  was  a  small, 
wizened  man,  who  stood  erect  as  the  other  ap- 
proached, and  advanced  to  meet  him.  The  two 
talked  for  a  minute  or  more,  the  taller  man  nod- 
ding his  head  frequently  in  my  direction,  as 
though  describing  what  had  passed  between  us. 
Then  they  walked  on  together,  and  disappeared 
in  a  dip  of  the  fell.  Presently  I  saw  them  ascend- 
ing once  more  some  rising  ground  farther  on. 
My  acquaintance  had  thrown  his  arm  round  his 
elderly  friend,  either  from  affection  or  from  a 
desire  to  aid  him  up  the  steep  incline.  The  square 
burly  figure  and  its  shrivelled,  meagre  companion 
stood  out  against  the  sky-line,  and  turning  their 
faces,  they  looked  back  at  me.  At  the  sight,  I 
slammed  the  door,  lest  they  should  be  encouraged 
to  return.  But  when  I  peeped  from  the  window 
some  minutes  afterward,  I  perceived  that  they 
were  gone. 

All  day  I  bent  over  the  Egyptian  papyrus 
upon  which  I  was  engaged ;  but  neither  the  subtle 
reasonings  of  the  ancient  philosopher  of  Mem- 
phis, nor  the  mystic  meaning  which  lay  in  his 
pages,  could  raise  my  mind  from  the  things  of 
earth.  Evening  was  drawing  in  before  I  threw 
[208] 


THE   SURGEON    OF  GASTER   FELL 


my  work  aside  in  despair.  My  heart  was  bitter 
against  this  man  for  his  intrusion.  Standing  by 
the  beck  which  purled  past  the  door  of  my  cabin, 
I  cooled  my  heated  brow,  and  thought  the  matter 
over.  Clearly  it  was  the  small  mystery  hanging 
over  these  neighbours  of  mine  which  had  caused 
my  mind  to  run  so  persistently  on  them.  That 
cleared  up,  they  would  no  longer  cause  an 
obstacle  to  my  studies.  What  was  to  hinder 
me,  then,  from  walking  in  the  direction  of  their 
dwelling,  and  observing  for  myself,  without  per- 
mitting them  to  suspect  my  presence,  what  man- 
ner of  men  they  might  be  ?  Doubtless,  their  mode 
of  life  would  be  found  to  admit  of  some  simple 
and  prosaic  explanation.  In  any  case,  the  eve- 
ning was  fine,  and  a  walk  would  be  bracing  for 
mind  and  body.  Lighting  my  pipe,  I  set  off 
over  the  moors  in  the  direction  which  they  had 
taken. 

About  half-way  down  a  wild  glen  there  stood  a 
small  clump  of  gnarled  and  stunted  oak  trees. 
From  behind  these,  a  thin  dark  column  of  smoke 
rose  into  the  still  evening  air.  Clearly  this  marked 
the  position  of  my  neighbour's  house.  Trending 
away  to  the  left,  I  was  able  to  gain  the  shelter 

[209] 


THE   SURGEON    OF   GASTEE   FELL 


of  a  line  of  rocks,  and  so  reach  a  spot  from  which 
I  could  command  a  view  of  the  building  without 
exposing  myself  to  any  risk  of  being  observed. 
It  was  a  small,  slate-covered  cottage,  hardly 
larger  than  the  boulders  among  which  it  lay. 
Like  my  own  cabin,  it  showed  signs  of  having 
been  constructed  for  the  use  of  some  shepherd; 
but,  unlike  mine,  no  pains  had  been  taken  by  the 
tenants  to  improve  and  enlarge  it.  Two  little 
peeping  windows,  a  cracked  and  weather-beaten 
door,  and  a  discoloured  barrel  for  catching  the 
rain  water,  were  the  only  external  objects  from 
which  I  might  draw  deductions  as  to  the  dwellers 
within.  Yet  even  in  these  there  was  food  for 
thought,  for  as  I  drew  nearer,  still  concealing 
myself  behind  the  ridge,  I  saw  that  thick  bars  of 
iron  covered  the  windows,  while  the  old  door  was 
slashed  and  plated  with  the  same  metal.  These 
strange  precautions,  together  with  the  wild  sur- 
roundings^and  unbroken  solitude,  gave  an  inde- 
scribably ill  omen  and  fearsome  character  to  the 
solitary  building.  Thrusting  my  pipe  into  my 
pocket,  I  crawled  upon  my  hands  and  knees 
through  the  gorse  and  ferns  until  I  was  within 
a  hundred  yards  of  my  neighbour's  door.  There, 
[210] 


THE    SURGEON    OF   GASTER   FELL 


finding  that  I  could  not  approach  nearer  without 
fear  of  detection,  I  crouched  down,  and  set  my- 
self to  watch. 

I  had  hardly  settled  into  my  hiding  place,  when 
the  door  of  the  cottage  swung  open,  and  the  man 
who  had  introduced  himself  to  me  as  the  surgeon 
of  Gaster  Fell  came  out,  bareheaded,  with  a  spade 
in  his  hands.  In  front  of  the  door  there  was  a 
small  cultivated  patch  containing  potatoes,  peas 
and  other  forms  of  green  stuff,  and  here  he  pro- 
ceeded to  busy  himself,  trimming,  weeding  and 
arranging,  singing  the  while  in  a  powerful  though 
not  very  musical  voice.  He  was  all  engrossed  in 
his  work,  with  his  back  to  the  cottage,  when  there 
emerged  from  the  half-open  door  the  same  atten- 
uated creature  whom  I  had  seen  in  the  morn- 
ing. I  could  perceive  now  that  he  was  a  man  of 
sixty,  wrinkled,  bent,  and  feeble,  with  sparse, 
grizzled  hair,  and  long,  colourless  face.  With  a 
cringing,  sidelong  gait,  he  shuffled  toward  his 
companion,  who  was  unconscious  of  his  approach 
until  he  was  close  upon  him.  His  light  footfall 
or  his  breathing  may  have  finally  given  notice  of 
his  proximity,  for  the  worker  sprung  round  and 
faced  him.  Each  made  a  quick  step  toward  the 

[211] 


THE   SURGEON    OF   GASTEE   FELL 


other,  as  though  in  greeting,  and  then — even  now 
I  feel  the  horror  of  the  instant — the  tall  man 
rushed  upon  and  knocked  his  companion  to  the 
earth,  then  whipping  up  his  body,  ran  with  great 
speed  over  the  intervening  ground  and  dis- 
appeared with  his  burden  into  the  house. 

Case  hardened  as  I  was  by  my  varied  life,  the 
suddenness  and  violence  of  the  thing  made  me 
shudder.  The  man's  age,  his  feeble  frame,  his 
humble  and  deprecating  manner,  all  cried  shame 
against  the  deed.  So  hot  was  my  anger,  that  I 
was  on  the  point  of  striding  up  to  the  cabin, 
unarmed  as  I  was,  when  the  sound  of  voices  from 
within  showed  me  that  the  victim  had  recovered. 
The  sun  had  sunk  beneath  the  horizon,  and  all 
was  grey,  save  a  red  feather  in  the  cap  of  Penni- 
gent.  Secure  in  the  failing  light,  I  approached 
near  and  strained  my  ears  to  catch  what  was  pass- 
ing. I  could  hear  the  high,  querulous  voice  of 
the  elder  man  and  the  deep,  rough  monotone  of 
his  assailant,  mixed  with  a  strange  metallic  jang- 
ling and  clanking.  Presently  the  surgeon  came 
out,  locked  the  door  behind  him  and  stamped  up 
and  down  in  the  twilight,  pulling  at  his  hair  and 
brandishing  his  arms,  like  a  man  demented.  Then 
[212] 


THE   SURGEON    OF   GASTEK,   FELL 


he  set  off,  walking  rapidly  up  the  valley,  and  I 
soon  lost  sight  of  him  among  the  rocks. 

When  his  footsteps  had  died  away  in  the 
distance,  I  drew  nearer  to  the  cottage.  The 
prisoner  within  was  still  pouring  forth  a  stream 
of  words,  and  moaning  from  time  to  time  like  a 
man  in  pain.  These  words  resolved  themselves, 
as  I  approached,  into  prayers — shrill,  voluble 
prayers,  pattered  forth  with  the  intense  earnest- 
ness of  one  who  sees  impending  an  imminent 
danger.  There  was  to  me  something  inexpres- 
sibly awesome  in  this  gush  of  solemn  entreaty 
from  the  lonely  sufferer,  meant  for  no  human 
ear,  and  jarring  upon  the  silence  of  the  night.  I 
was  still  pondering  whether  I  should  mix  myself 
in  the  affair  or  not,  when  I  heard  in  the  distance 
the  sound  of  the  surgeon's  returning  footfall.  At 
that  I  drew  myself  up  quickly  by  the  iron  bars 
and  glanced  in  through  the  diamond-paned  win- 
dow. The  interior  of  the  cottage  was  lighted 
up  by  a  lurid  glow,  coming  from  what  I  after- 
ward discovered  to  be  a  chemical  furnace.  By 
its  rich  light  I  could  distinguish  a  great  litter  of 
retorts,  test  tubes  and  condensers,  which  sparkled 
over  the  table,  and  threw  strange,  grotesque 

[213] 


THE   SURGEON   OF   GASTER  FELL 


shadows  on  the  wall.  On  the  further  side  of  the 
room  was  a  wooden  framework  resembling  a  hen- 
coop, and  in  this,  still  absorbed  in  prayer,  knelt 
the  man  whose  voice  I  heard.  The  red  glow 
beating  upon  his  upturned  face  made  it  stand  out 
from  the  shadow  like  a  painting  from  Rembrandt, 
showing  up  every  wrinkle  upon  the  parchment- 
like  skin.  I  had  but  time  for  a  fleeting  glance ; 
then,  dropping  from  the  window,  I  made  off 
through  the  rocks  and  the  heather,  nor  slackened 
my  pace  until  I  found  myself  back  in  my  cabin 
once  more.  There  I  threw  myself  upon  my 
couch,  more  disturbed  and  shaken  than  I  had  ever 
thought  to  feel  again. 

Such  doubts  as  I  might  have  had  as  to  whether 
I  had  indeed  seen  my  former  fellow-lodger  upon 
the  night  of  the  thunderstorm  were  resolved  the 
next  morning.  Strolling  along  down  the  path 
which  led  to  the  fell,  I  saw  in  one  spot  where  the 
ground  was  soft  the  impressions  of  a  foot — the 
small,  dainty  foot  of  a  well-booted  woman.  That 
tiny  heel  and  high  instep  could  have  belonged 
to  none  other  than  my  companion  of  Kirkby- 
Malhouse.  I  followed  her  trail  for  some  distance, 
till  it  still  pointed,  as  far  as  I  could  discern  it, 
[214] 


THE  SURGEON  OF  GASTER  FELL 


to  the  lonely  and  ill-omened  cottage.  What 
power  could  there  be  to  draw  this  tender  girl, 
through  wind  and  rain  and  darkness,  across  the 
fearsome  moors  to  that  strange  rendezvous? 

I  have  said  that  a  little  beck  flowed  down  the 
valley  and  past  my  very  door.  A  week  or  so 
after  the  doings  which  I  have  described,  I  was 
seated  by  my  window  when  I  perceived  some- 
thing white  drifting  slowly  down  the  stream.  My 
first  thought  was  that  it  was  a  drowning  sheep ; 
but  picking  up  my  stick,  I  strolled  to  the  bank 
and  pulled  it  ashore.  On  examination  it  proved 
to  be  a  large  sheet,  torn  and  tattered,  with  the 
initials  J.  C.  in  the  corner.  What  gave  it  its 
sinister  significance,  however,  was  that  from  hem 
to  hem  it  was  all  dabbled  and  discoloured. 

Shutting  the  door  of  my  cabin,  I  set  off  up  the 
glen  in  the  direction  of  the  surgeon's  cabin.  I 
had  not  gone  far  before  I  perceived  the  very  man 
himself.  He  was  walking  rapidly  along  the  hill- 
side, beating  the  furze  bushes  with  a  cudgel  and 
bellowing  like  a  madman.  Indeed,  at  the  sight 
of  him,  the  doubts  as  to  his  sanity  which  had 
arisen  in  my  mind  were  strengthened  and  con- 
firmed. 

[215] 


THE   SURGEON   OF  CASTER  FELL 


As  he  approached  I  noticed  that  his  left  arm 
was  suspended  in  a  sling.  On  perceiving  me  he 
stood  irresolute,  as  though  uncertain  whether  to 
come  over  to  me  or  not.  I  had  no  desire  for 
an  interview  with  him,  however,  so  I  hurried 
past  him,  on  which  he  continued  on  his  way,  still 
shouting  and  striking  about  with  his  club.  When 
he  had  disappeared  over  the  fells,  I  made  my  way 
down  to  his  cottage,  determined  to  find  some  clue 
to  what  had  occurred.  I  was  surprised,  on  reach- 
ing it,  to  find  the  iron-plated  door  flung  wide 
open.  The  ground  immediately  outside  it  was 
marked  with  the  signs  of  a  struggle.  The 
chemical  apparatus  within  and  the  furniture  were 
all  dashed  about  and  shattered.  Most  suggestive 
of  all,  the  sinister  wooden  cage  was  stained  with 
blood-marks,  and  its  unfortunate  occupant  had 
disappeared.  My  heart  was  heavy  for  the  little 
man,  for  I  was  assured  I  should  never  see  him  in 
this  world  more. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  cabin  to  throw  any 
light  upon  the  identity  of  my  neighbours.  The 
room  was  stuffed  with  chemical  instruments.  In 
one  corner  a  small  bookcase  contained  a  choice 
selection  of  works  of  science.  In  another  was  a 
[216] 


THE  SURGEON  OF  GASTER  FELL 


pile  of  geological  specimens  collected  from  the 
limestone. 

I  caught  no  glimpse  of  the  surgeon  upon  my 
homeward  journey;  but  when  I  reached  my  cot- 
tage I  was  astonished  and  indignant  to  find  that 
somebody  had  entered  it  in  my  absence.  Boxes 
had  been  pulled  out  from  under  the  bed,  the 
curtains  disarranged,  the  chairs  drawn  out  from 
the  wall.  Even  my  study  had  not  been  safe 
from  this  rough  intruder,  for  the  prints  of  a  heavy 
boot  were  plainly  visible  on  the  ebony-black 
carpet. 

IV. OF  THE  MAN  WHO  CAME  IN  THE  NIGHT 

The  night  set  in  gusty  and  tempestuous,  and 
the  moon  was  all  girt  with  ragged  clouds. 
The  wind  blew  in  melancholy  gusts,  sobbing  and 
sighing  over  the  moor,  and  setting  all  the  gorse 
bushes  agroaning.  From  time  to  time  a  little 
sputter  of  rain  pattered  up  against  the  window- 
pane.  I  sat  until  near  midnight,  glancing  over 
the  fragment  on  immortality  by  lamblichus,  the 
Alexandrian  platonist,  of  whom  the  Emperor 
Julian  said  that  he  was  posterior  to  Plato  in  time 
but  not  in  genius.  At  last,  shutting  up  my 

[217] 


THE   SURGEON   OF  GASTER  FELL 


book,  I  opened  my  door  and  took  a  last  look  at 
the  dreary  fell  and  still  more  dreary  sky.  As  I 
protruded  my  head,  a  swoop  of  wind  caught  me 
and  sent  the  red  ashes  of  my  pipe  sparkling  and 
dancing  through  the  darkness.  At  the  same 
moment  the  moon  shone  brilliantly  out  from  be- 
tween two  clouds,  and  I  saw,  sitting  on  the  hill- 
side, not  two  hundred  yards  from  my  door,  the 
man  who  called  himself  the  surgeon  of  Gaster 
Fell.  He  was  squatted  among  the  heather,  his 
elbows  upon  his  knees,  and  his  chin  resting  upon 
his  hands,  as  motionless  as  a  stone,  with  his  gaze 
fixed  steadily  upon  the  door  of  my  dwelling. 

At  the  sight  of  this  ill-omened  sentinel,  a  chill 
of  horror  and  of  fear  shot  through  me,  for  his 
gloomy  and  mysterious  associations  had  cast  a 
glamour  round  the  man,  and  the  hour  and  place 
were  in  keeping  with  his  sinister  presence.  In  a 
moment,  however,  a  manly  glow  of  resentment 
and  self-confidence  drove  this  petty  emotion  from 
my  mind,  and  I  strode  fearlessly  in  his  direction. 
He  rose  as  I  approached  and  faced  me,  with  the 
moon  shining  on  his  grave,  bearded  face  and 
glittering  on  his  eyeballs.  "What  is  the  meaning 
[218] 


THE   SURGEON   OF  GASTER   FELL 


of  this?"  I  cried,  as  I  came  upon  him.  "What 
right  have  you  to  play  the  spy  on  me?" 

I  could  see  the  flush  of  anger  rise  on  his  face. 
"Your  stay  in  the  country  has  made  you  forget 
your  manners,"  he  said.  "The  moor  is  free  to 
all." 

"You  will  say  next  that  my  house  is  free  to 
all,"  I  said,  hotly.  "You  have  had  the  imperti- 
nence to  ransack  it  in  my  absence  this  afternoon." 

He  started,  and  his  features  showed  the  most 
intense  excitement.  "I  swear  to  you  that  I  had 
no  hand  in  it!"  he  cried.  "I  have  never  set  foot 
in  your  house  in  my  life.  Oh,  sir,  sir,  if  you  will 
but  believe  me,  there  is  a  danger  hanging  over 
you,  and  you  would  do  well  to  be  careful." 

"I  have  had  enough  of  you,"  I  said.  "I  saw 
that  cowardly  blow  you  struck  when  you  thought 
no  human  eye  rested  upon  you.  I  have  been  to 
your  cottage,  too,  and  know  all  that  it  has  to  tell. 
If  there  is  a  law  in  England,  you  shall  hang  for 
what  you  have  done.  As  to  me,  I  am  an  old 
soldier,  sir,  and  I  am  armed.  I  shall  not  fasten 
my  door.  But  if  you  or  any  other  villain  attempt 
to  cross  my  threshold  it  shall  be  at  your  own 

[219] 


THE  SURGEON  OF  GASTER  FELL, 


risk."     With  these  words,  I  swung  round  upon 
my  heel  and  strode  into  my  cabin. 

For  two  days  the  wind  freshened  and  increased, 
with  constant  squalls  of  rain  until  on  the  third 
night  the  most  furious  storm  was  raging  which  I 
can  ever  recollect  in  England.  I  felt  that  it  was 
positively  useless  to  go  to  bed,  nor  could  I  con- 
centrate my  mind  sufficiently  to  read  a  book.  I 
turned  my  lamp  half  down  to  moderate  the  glare, 
and  leaning  back  in  my  chair,  I  gave  myself  up 
to  reverie.  I  must  have  lost  all  perception  of 
time,  for  I  have  no  recollection  how  long  I  sat 
there  on  the  borderland  betwixt  thought  and 
slumber.  At  last,  about  3  or  possibly  4  o'clock, 
I  came  to  myself  with  a  start — not  only  came  to 
myself,  but  with  every  sense  and  nerve  upon  the 
strain.  Looking  round  my  chamber  in  the  dim 
light,  I  could  not  see  anything  to  justify  my 
sudden  trepidation.  The  homely  room,  the  rain- 
blurred  window  and  the  rude  wooden  door  were 
all  as  they  had  been.  I  had  begun  to  persuade 
myself  that  some  half -formed  dream  had  sent  that 
vague  thrill  through  my  nerves,  when  in  a 
moment  I  became  conscious  of  what  it  was.  It 
[220] 


THE  SURGEON  OF  GASTER  FELL 


was  a  sound — the  sound  of  a  human  step  outside 
my  solitary  cottage. 

Amid  the  thunder  and  the  rain  and  the  wind 
I  could  hear  it — a  dull,  stealthy  footfall,  now  on 
the  grass,  now  on  the  stones — occasionally  stop- 
ping entirely,  then  resumed,  and  ever  drawing 
nearer.  I  sat  breathlessly,  listening  to  the  eerie 
sound.  It  had  stopped  now  at  my  very  door,  and 
was  replaced  by  a  panting  and  gasping,  as  of  one 
who  has  travelled  fast  and  far. 

By  the  flickering  light  of  the  expiring  lamp 
I  could  see  that  the  latch  of  my  door  was  twitch- 
ing, as  though  a  gentle  pressure  was  exerted  on 
it  from  without.  Slowly,  slowly,  it  rose,  until 
it  was  free  of  the  catch,  and  then  there  was  a 
pause  of  a  quarter  minute  or  more,  while  I  still 
sat  silent  with  dilated  eyes  and  drawn  sabre. 
Then,  very  slowly,  the  door  began  to  revolve  upon 
its  hinges,  and  the  keen  air  of  the  night  came 
whistling  through  the  slit.  Very  cautiously  it 
was  pushed  open,  so  that  never  a  sound  came 
from  the  rusty  hinges.  As  the  aperture  enlarged, 
I  became  aware  of  a  dark,  shadowy  figure  upon 
my  threshold,  and  of  a  pale  face  that  looked  in 
at  me.  The  features  were  human,  but  the  eyes 

[221] 


THE  SURGEON  OF  GASTER  FELL 


were  not.  They  seemed  to  burn  through  the 
darkness  with  a  greenish  brilliancy  of  their  own; 
and  in  their  baleful,  shifty  glare  I  was  conscious 
of  the  very  spirit  of  murder.  Springing  from 
my  chair,  I  had  raised  my  naked  sword,  when, 
with  a  wild  shouting,  a  second  figure  dashed  up 
to  my  door.  At  its  approach  my  shadowy  visitant 
uttered  a  shrill  cry,  and  fled  away  across  the  fells, 
yelping  like  a  beaten  hound. 

Tingling  with  my  recent  fear,  I  stood  at  my 
door,  peering  through  the  night,  with  the  dis- 
cordant cry  of  the  fugitives  still  ringing  in  my 
ears.  At  that  moment  a  vivid  flash  of  lightning 
illuminated  the  whole  landscape  and  made  it  as 
clear  as  day.  By  its  light  I  saw  far  away  upon 
the  hillside  two  dark  figures  pursuing  each  other 
with  extreme  rapidity  across  the  fells.  Even  at 
that  distance  the  contrast  between  them  forbid  all 
doubt  as  to  their  identity.  The  first  was  the 
small,  elderly  man,  whom  I  had  supposed  to  be 
dead ;  the  second  was  my  neighbour,  the  surgeon. 
For  an  instant  they  stood  out  clear  and  hard  in 
the  unearthly  light ;  in  the  next,  the  darkness  had 
closed  over  them,  and  they  were  gone.  As  I 
turned  to  re-enter  my  chamber,  my  foot  rattled 
[222] 


THE  SURGEON   OF  GASTER   FELL 


against  something  on  my  threshold.  Stooping, 
I  found  it  was  a  straight  knife,  fashioned  entirely 
of  lead,  and  so  soft  and  brittle  that  it  was  a 
strange  choice  for  a  weapon.  To  render  it  more 
harmless,  the  top  had  been  cut  square  off.  The 
edge,  however,  had  been  assiduously  sharpened 
against  a  stone,  as  was  evident  from  the  markings 
upon  it,  so  that  it  was  still  a  dangerous  imple- 
ment in  the  grasp  of  a  determined  man. 

And  what  was  the  meaning  of  it  all?  you  ask. 
Many  a  drama  which  I  have  come  across  in  my 
wandering  life,  some  as  strange  and  as  striking 
as  this  one,  has  lacked  the  ultimate  explanation 
wrhich  you  demand.  Fate  is  a  grand  weaver  of 
tales;  but  she  ends  them,  as  a  rule,  in  defiance 
of  all  artistic  laws,  and  with  an  unbecoming  want 
of  regard  for  literary  propriety.  As  it  happens, 
however,  I  have  a  letter  before  me  as  I  write 
which  I  may  add  without  comment,  and  which 
will  clear  all  that  may  remain  dark. 


LUNATIC  ASTLUM, 

"September  4th,  1885. 

"SiR,  —  I  am  deeply  conscious  that  some  apol- 
ogy and  explanation  is  due  to  you  for  the  very 
startling  and,  in  your  eyes,  mysterious  events 

[223] 


THE  SURGEON   OF  GASTEE  FELL 


which  have  recently  occurred,  and  which  have 
so  seriously  interfered  with  the  retired  existence 
which  you  desire  to  lead.  I  should  have  called 
upon  you  on  the  morning  after  the  recapture  of 
my  father,  but  my  knowledge  of  your  dislike 
to  visitors  and  also  of — you  will  excuse  my  saying 
it — your  very  violent  temper,  led  me  to  think 
that  it  was  better  to  communicate  with  you  by 
letter. 

"My  poor  father  was  a  hard-working  general 
practitioner  in  Birmingham,  where  his  name  is 
still  remembered,  and  respected.  About  ten 
years  ago  he  began  to  show  signs  of  mental  aber- 
ration, which  we  were  inclined  to  put  down  to 
overwork  and  the  effects  of  a  sunstroke.  Feeling 
my  own  incompetence  to  pronounce  upon  a  case 
of  such  importance,  I  at  once  sought  the  highest 
advice  in  Birmingham  and  London.  Among 
others  we  consulted  the  eminent  alienist,  Mr. 
Eraser  Brown,  who  pronounced  my  father's  case 
to  be  intermittent  in  its  nature,  but  dangerous 
during  the  paroxysms.  'It  may  take  a  homicidal, 
or  it  may  take  a  religious  turn,'  he  said;  'or  it 
may  prove  to  be  a  mixture  of  both.  For  months 
he  may  be  as  well  as  you  or  me,  and  then  in  a 
[224] 


THE  SURGEON   OF  GASTER  FELL 


moment  he  may  break  out.  You  will  incur  a 
great  responsibility  if  you  leave  him  without 
supervision.' 

"I  need  say  no  more,  sir.  You  will  understand 
the  terrible  task  which  has  fallen  upon  my  poor 
sister  and  me  in  endeavouring  to  save  my  father 
from  the  asylum  which  in  his  sane  moments  filled 
him  with  horror.  I  can  only  regret  that  your 
peace  has  been  disturbed  by  our  misfortunes  and 
I  offer  you  in  my  sister's  name  and  my  own  our 
apologies.  Yours  truly, 

"J.  CAMERON." 


[225] 


VIII 

HOW     IT     HAPPENED 


SHE  was  a  writing  medium.      This  is  what 
she  wrote: — 

I  can  remember  some  things  upon  that  evening 
most  distinctly,  and  others  are  like  some  vague, 
broken  dreams.  That  is  what  makes  it  so  diffi- 
cult to  tell  a  connected  story.  I  have  no  idea  now 
what  it  was  that  had  taken  me  to  London  and 
brought  me  back  so  late.  It  just  merges  into 
all  my  other  visits  to  London.  But  from  the 
time  that  I  got  out  at  the  little  country  station 
everything  is  extraordinarily  clear.  I  can  live  it 
again — every  instant  of  it. 

I  remember  so  well  walking  down  the  platform 

and  looking  at  the  illuminated  clock  at  the  end 

which  told  me  that  it  was  half -past  eleven.      I 

remember  also  my  wordering  whether  I  could  get 

[226] 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 


home  before  midnight.  Then  I  remember  the 
big  motor,  with  its  glaring  headlights  and  glitter 
of  polished  brass,  waiting  for  me  outside.  It  was 
my  new  thirty-horse-power  Robur,  which  had 
only  been  delivered  that  day.  I  remember  also 
asking  Perkins,  my  chauffeur,  how  she  had  gone, 
and  his  saying  that  he  thought  she  was  excellent. 

"I'll  try  her  myself,"  said  I,  and  I  climbed 
into  the  driver's  seat. 

"The  gears  are  not  the  same,"  said  he.  "Per- 
haps, sir,  I  had  better  drive." 

"No;  I  should  like  to  try  her,"  said  I. 

And  so  we  started  on  the  five-mile  drive  for 
home. 

My  old  car  had  the  gears  as  they  used  always 
to  be  in  notches  on  a  bar.  In  this  car  you  passed 
the  gear-lever  through  a  gate  to  get  on  the  higher 
ones.  It  was  not  difficult  to  master,  and  soon 
I  thought  that  I  understood  it.  It  was  foolish, 
no  doubt,  to  begin  to  learn  a  new  system  in  the 
dark,  but  one  often  does  foolish  things,  and  one 
has  not  always  to  pay  the  full  price  for  them.  I 
got  along  very  well  until  I  came  to  Claystall  Hill. 
It  is  one  of  the  worst  hills  in  England,  a  mile 
and  a  half  long  and  one  in  six  in  places,  with  three 

[227] 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 


fairly  sharp  curves.  My  park  gates  stand  at  the 
very  foot  of  it  upon  the  main  London  road. 

We  were  just  over  the  brow  of  this  hill,  where 
the  grade  is  steepest,  when  the  trouble  began.  I 
had  been  on  the  top  speed,  and  wanted  to  get  her 
on  the  free;  but  she  stuck  between  gears,  and  I 
had  to  get  her  back  on  the  top  again.  By  this 
time  she  was  going  at  a  great  rate,  so  I  clapped 
on  both  brakes,  and  one  after  the  other  they  gave 
way.  I  didn't  mind  so  much  when  I  felt  my 
footbrake  snap,  but  when  I  put  all  my  weight 
on  my  side-brake,  and  the  lever  clanged  to  its 
full  limit  without  a  catch,  it  brought  a  cold  sweat 
out  of  me.  By  this  time  we  were  fairly  tearing 
down  the  slope.  The  lights  were  brilliant,  and  I 
brought  her  round  the  first  curve  all  right.  Then 
we  did  the  second  one,  though  it  was  a  close  shave 
for  the  ditch.  There  was  a  mile  of  straight  then 
with  the  third  curve  beneath  it,  and  after  that 
the  gate  of  the  park.  If  I  could  shoot  into  that 
harbour  all  would  be  well,  for  the  slope  up  to  the 
house  would  bring  her  to  a  stand. 

Perkins  behaved  splendidly.  I  should  like  that 
to  be  known.  He  was  perfectly  cool  and  alert. 
[228] 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 


I  had  thought  at  the  very  beginning  of  taking 
the  bank,  and  he  read  my  intention. 

"I  wouldn't  do  it,  sir,"  said  he.  "At  this  pace 
it  must  go  over  and  we  should  have  it  on  the  top 
of  us." 

Of  course  he  was  right.  He  got  to  the  electric 
switch  and  had  it  off,  so  we  were  in  the  free ;  but 
we  were  still  running  at  a  fearful  pace.  He  laid 
his  hands  on  the  wheel. 

"I'll  keep  her  steady,"  said  he,  "if  you  care  to 
jump  and  chance  it.  We  can  never  get  round 
that  curve.  Better  jump,  sir." 

"No,"  said  I ;  "I'll  stick  it  out.  You  can  jump 
if  you  like." 

"I'll  stick  it  with  you,  sir,"  said  he. 

If  it  had  been  the  old  car  I  should  have  jammed 
the  gear-lever  into  the  reverse,  and  seen  what 
would  happen.  I  expect  she  would  have  stripped 
her  gears  or  smashed  up  somehow,  but  it  would 
have  been  a  chance.  As  it  was,  I  was  helpless. 
Perkins  tried  to  climb  across,  but  you  couldn't 
do  it  going  at  that  pace.  The  wheels  were  whir- 
ring like  a  high  wind  and  the  big  body  creaking 
and  groaning  with  the  strain.  But  the  lights  were 
brilliant,  and  one  could  steer  to  an  inch.  I  re- 

[229] 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 


member  thinking  what  an  awful  and  yet  majestic 
sight  we  should  appear  to  any  one  who  met  us. 
It  was  a  narrow  road,  and  we  were  just  a  great, 
roaring,  golden  death  to  any  one  who  came  in 
our  path. 

We  got  round  the  corner  with  one  wheel  three 
feet  high  upon  the  bank.  I  thought  we  were 
surely  over,  but  after  staggering  for  a  moment 
she  righted  and  darted  onwards.  That  was  the 
third  corner  and  the  last  one.  There  was  only 
the  park  gate  now.  It  was  facing  us,  but,  as 
luck  would  have  it,  not  facing  us  directly.  It 
was  about  twenty  yards  to  the  left  up  the  main 
road  into  which  we  ran.  Perhaps  I  could  have 
done  it,  but  I  expect  that  the  steering-gear  had 
been  jarred  when  we  ran  on  the  bank.  The 
wheel  did  not  turn  easily.  We  shot  out  of  the 
lane.  I  saw  the  open  gate  on  the  left.  I  whirled 
round  my  wheel  with  all  the  strength  of  my 
wrists.  Perkins  and  I  threw  our  bodies  across, 
and  then  the  next  instant,  going  at  fifty  miles  an 
hour,  my  right  front  wheel  struck  full  on  the 
right-hand  pillar  of  my  own  gate.  I  heard  the 
crash.  I  was  conscious  of  flying  through  the  air, 
and  then — and  then —  I 
[280] 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 


When  I  became  aware  of  my  own  existence 
once  more  I  was  among  some  brushwood  in  the 
shadow  of  the  oaks  upon  the  lodge  side  of  the 
drive.  A  man  was  standing  beside  me.  I 
imagined  at  first  that  it  was  Perkins,  but  when  I 
looked  again  I  saw  that  it  was  Stanley,  a  man 
whom  I  had  known  at  college  some  years  before, 
and  for  whom  I  had  a  really  genuine  affection. 
There  was  always  something  peculiarly  sympa- 
thetic to  me  in  Stanley's  personality;  and  I  was 
proud  to  think  that  I  had  some  similar  influence 
upon  him.  At  the  present  moment  I  was  sur- 
prised to  see  him,  but  I  was  like  a  man  in  a 
dream,  giddy  and  shaken  and  quite  prepared  to 
take  things  as  I  found  them  without  questioning; 
them. 

"What  a  smash!"  I  said.  "Good  Lord,  what 
an  awful  smash !" 

He  nodded  his  head,  and  even  in  the  gloom  I 
could  see  that  he  was  smiling  the  gentle,  wistful 
smile  which  I  connected  with  him. 

I  was  quite  unable  to  move.  Indeed,  I  had 
not  any  desire  to  try  to  move.  But  my  senses 
were  exceedingly  alert.  I  saw  the  wreck  of  the 
motor  lit  up  by  the  moving  lanterns.  I  saw  the 

[231] 


HOW   IT    HAPPENED 


little  group  of  people  and  heard  the  hushed  voices. 
There  were  the  lodge-keeper  and  his  wife,  and 
one  or  two  more.  They  were  taking  no  notice 
of  me,  but  were  very  busy  round  the  car.  Then 
suddenly  I  heard  a  cry  of  pain. 

"The  weight  is  on  him.  Lift  it  easy,"  cried  a 
voice. 

"It's  only  my  leg!"  said  another  one,  which  I 
recognised  as  Perkins's.  "Where's  master?"  he 
cried. 

"Here  I  am,"  I  answered,  but  they  did  not 
seem  to  hear  me.  They  were  all  bending  over 
something  which  lay  in  front  of  the  car. 

Stanley  laid  his  hand  upon  my  shoulder,  and 
his  touch  was  inexpressibly  soothing.  I  felt  light 
and  happy,  in  spite  of  all. 

"No  pain,  of  course?"  said  he. 

"None,"  said  I. 

"There  never  is,"  said  he. 

And  then  suddenly  a  wave  of  amazement 
passed  over  me.  Stanley!  Stanley!  Why, 
Stanley  had  surely  died  of  enteric  at  Bloemfon- 
tein  in  the  Boer  War! 

"Stanley!"  I  cried,  and  the  words  seemed  to 
choke  my  throat — "Stanley,  you  are  dead." 
[232] 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 


He  looked  at  me  with  the  same  old  gentle, 
wistful  smile. 

"So  are  you,"  he  answered. 


[233] 


IX 

THE     PRISONER'S     DEFENCE 

THE  circumstances,  so  far  as  they  were  known 
to  the  public,  concerning  the  death  of  the 
beautiful  Miss  Ena  Gamier,  and  the  fact  that 
Captain  John  Fowler,  the  accused  officer,  had  re- 
fused to  defend  himself  on  the  occasion  of  the 
proceedings  at  the  police-court,  had  roused  very 
general  interest.  This  was  increased  by  the 
statement  that,  though  he  withheld  his  defence,  it 
would  be  found  to  be  of  a  very  novel  and  con- 
vincing character.  The  assertion  of  the  prisoner's 
lawyer  at  the  police-court,  to  the  effect  that  the 
answer  to  the  charge  was  such  that  it  could  not 
yet  be  given,  but  would  be  available  before  the 
Assizes,  also  caused  much  speculation.  A  final 
touch  was  given  to  the  curiosity  of  the  public 
when  it  was  learned  that  the  prisoner  had  refused 
[234] 


THE    PRISONER  S   DEFENCE 


all  offers  of  legal  assistance  from  counsel  and  was 
determined  to  conduct  his  own  defence.  The 
case  for  the  Crown  was  ably  presented,  and  was 
generally  considered  to  be  a  very  damning  one, 
since  it  showed  very  clearly  that  the  accused  was 
subject  to  fits  of  jealousy,  and  that  he  had  already 
been  guilty  of  some  violence  owing  to  this  cause. 
The  prisoner  listened  to  the  evidence  without 
emotion,  and  neither  interrupted  nor  cross- 
questioned  the  witnesses.  Finally,  on  being  in- 
formed that  the  time  had  come  when  he  might 
address  the  jury,  he  stepped  to  the  front  of  the 
dock.  He  was  a  man  of  striking  appearance, 
swarthy,  black-moustached,  nervous,  and  virile, 
with  a  quietly  confident  manner.  Taking  a  paper 
from  his  pocket  he  read  the  following  statement, 
which  made  the  deepest  impression  upon  the 
crowded  court: — 

I  would  wish  to  say,  in  the  first  place,  gentle- 
men of  the  jury,  that,  owing  to  the  generosity  of 
my  brother  officers — for  my  own  means  are 
limited — I  might  have  been  defended  to-day  by 
the  first  talent  of  the  Bar.  The  reason  I  have 
declined  their  assistance  and  have  determined  to 

[235] 


THE   PRISONERS   DEFENCE 


fight  my  own  case  is  not  that  I  have  any  con- 
fidence in  my  own  abilities  or  eloquence,  but  it  is 
because  I  am  convinced  that  a  plain,  straight- 
forward tale,  coming  direct  from  the  man  who 
has  been  the  tragic  actor  in  this  dreadful  affair, 
will  impress  you  more  than  any  indirect  statement 
could  do.  If  I  had  felt  that  I  were  guilty  I 
should  have  asked  for  help.  Since,  in  my  own 
heart,  I  believe  that  I  am  innocent,  I  am  plead- 
ing my  own  cause,  feeling  that  my  plain  words 
of  truth  and  reason  will  have  more  weight  with 
you  than  the  most  learned  and  eloquent  advo- 
cate. By  the  indulgence  of  the  Court  I  have 
been  permitted  to  put  my  remarks  upon  paper, 
so  that  I  may  reproduce  certain  conversations 
and  be  assured  of  saying  neither  more  nor  less 
than  I  mean. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  at  the  trial  at  the 
police-court  two  months  ago  I  refused  to  defend 
myself.  This  has  been  referred  to  to-day  as  a 
proof  of  my  guilt.  I  said  that  it  would  be  some 
days  before  I  could  open  my  mouth.  This  was 
taken  at  the  time  as  a  subterfuge.  Well,  the 
days  are  over,  and  I  am  now  able  to  make  clear 
[236] 


THE   PRISONER  S   DEFENCE 


to  you  not  only  what  took  place,  but  also  why  it 
was  impossible  for  me  to  give  any  explanation. 
I  will  tell  you  now  exactly  what  I  did  and  why 
it  was  that  I  did  it.  If  you,  my  fellow-country- 
men, think  that  I  did  wrong,  I  will  make  no  com- 
plaint, but  will  suffer  in  silence  any  penalty 
which  you  may  impose  upon  me. 

I  am  a  soldier  of  fifteen  years'  standing,  a 
captain  in  the  Second  Breconshire  Battalion.  I 
have  served  in  the  South  African  Campaign  and 
was  mentioned  in  despatches  after  the  battle  of 
Diamond  Hill.  When  the  war  broke  out  with 
Germany  I  was  seconded  from  my  regiment,  and 
I  was  appointed  as  adjutant  to  the  First  Scottish 
Scouts,  newly  raised.  The  regiment  was  quar- 
tered at  Radchurch,  in  Essex,  where  the  men 
were  placed  partly  in  huts  and  were  partly  bil- 
leted upon  the  inhabitants.  All  the  officers  were 
billeted  out,  and  my  quarters  were  with  Mr. 
Murreyfield,  the  local  squire.  It  was  there  that 
I  first  met  Miss  Ena  Garnier. 

It  may  not  seem  proper  at  such  a  time  and 
place  as  this  that  I  should  describe  that  lady. 
And  yet  her  personality  is  the  very  essence  of 

[237] 


THE    PRISONER  S   DEFENCE 


my  case.  Let  me  only  say  that  I  cannot  believe 
that  Nature  ever  put  into  female  form  a  more 
exquisite  combination  of  beauty  and  intelligence. 
She  was  twenty-five  years  of  age,  blonde  and 
tall,  with  a  peculiar  delicacy  of  features  and  of 
expression.  I  have  read  of  people  falling  in  love 
at  first  sight,  and  had  always  looked  upon  it 
as  an  expression  of  the  novelist.  And  yet  from 
the  moment  that  I  saw  Ena  Garnier  life  held 
for  me  but  the  one  ambition — that  she  should  be 
mine.  I  had  never  dreamed  before  of  the  pos- 
sibilities of  passion  that  were  within  me.  I  will 
not  enlarge  upon  the  subject,  but  to  make  you 
understand  my  action — for  I  wish  you  to  com- 
prehend it,  however  much  you  may  condemn  it — 
you  must  realise  that  I  was  in  the  grip  of  a  frantic 
elementary  passion  which  made,  for  a  time,  the 
world  and  all  that  was  in  it  seem  a  small  thing 
if  I  could  but  gain  the  love  of  this  one  girl.  And 
yet,  in  justice  to  myself,  I  will  say  that  there  was 
always  one  thing  which  I  placed  above  her.  That 
was  my  honour  as  a  soldier  and  a  gentleman. 
You  will  find  it  hard  to  believe  this  when  I  tell 
you  what  occurred,  and  yet — though  for  one 
moment  I  forgot  myself — my  whole  legal  offence 
[238] 


THE    PRISONER  S   DEFENCE 


consists  in  my  desperate  endeavour  to  retrieve 
what  I  had  done. 

I  soon  found  that  the  lady  was  not  insensible 
to  the  advances  which  I  made  to  her.  Her  posi- 
tion in  the  household  wras  a  curious  one.  She  had 
come  a  year  before  from  Montpelier,  in  the  South 
of  France,  in  answer  to  an  advertisement  from 
the  Murreyfields  in  order  to  teach  French  to  their 
three  young  children.  She  was,  however,  unpaid, 
so  that  she  was  rather  a  friendly  guest  than  an 
employe.  She  had  always,  as  I  gathered,  been 
fond  of  the  English  and  desirous  to  live  in  Eng- 
land, but  the  outbreak  of  the  war  had  quickened 
her  feelings  into  passionate  attachment,  for  the 
ruling  emotion  of  her  soul  was  her  hatred  of  the 
Germans.  Her  grandfather,  as  she  told  me, 
had  been  killed  under  very  tragic  circumstances 
in  the  campaign  of  1870,  and  her  two  brothers 
were  both  in  the  French  army.  Her  voice 
vibrated  with  passion  when  she  spoke  of  the  in- 
famies of  Belgium,  and  more  than  once  I  have 
seen  her  kissing  my  sword  and  my  revolver  be- 
cause she  hoped  they  would  be  used  upon  the 
enemy.  With  such  feelings  in  her  heart  it  can 
be  imagined  that  my  wooing  was  not  a  difficult 

[239] 


THE   PRISONERS   DEFENCE 


one.  I  should  have  been  glad  to  marry  her  at 
once,  but  to  this  she  would  not  consent.  Every- 
thing was  to  come  after  the  war,  for  it  was 
necessary,  she  said,  that  I  should  go  to  Montpelier 
and  meet  her  people,  so  that  the  French  pro- 
prieties should  be  properly  observed. 

She  had  one  accomplishment  which  was  rare  for 
a  lady;  she  was  a  skilled  motor-cyclist.  She  had 
been  fond  of  long,  solitary  rides,  but  after  our 
engagement  I  was  occasionally  allowed  to  accom- 
pany her.  She  was  a  woman,  however,  of  strange 
moods  and  fancies,  which  added  in  my  feelings 
to  the  charm  of  her  character.  She  could  be  ten- 
derness itself,  and  she  could  be  aloof  and  even 
harsh  in  her  manner.  More  than  once  she  had 
refused  my  company  with  no  reason  given,  and 
with  a  quick,  angry  flash  of  her  eyes  when  I 
asked  for  one.  Then,  perhaps,  her  mood  would 
change  and  she  would  make  up  for  this  unkind- 
ness  by  some  exquisite  attention  which  would  in 
an  instant  soothe  all  my  ruffled  feelings.  It  was 
the  same  in  the  house.  My  military  duties  were 
so  exacting  that  it  was  only  in  the  evenings  that 
I  could  hope  to  see  her,  and  yet  very  often  she 
remained  in  the  little  study  which  was  used  dur- 
[240] 


THE   PRISONER  S  DEFENCE 


ing  the  day  for  the  children's  lessons,  and  would 
tell  me  plainly  that  she  wished  to  be  alone.  Then, 
when  she  saw  that  I  was  hurt  by  her  caprice,  she 
would  laugh  and  apologise  so  sweetly  for  her 
rudeness  that  I  was  more  her  slave  than  ever. 

Mention  has  been  made  of  my  jealous  disposi- 
tion, and  it  has  been  asserted  at  the  trial  that 
there  were  scenes  owing  to  my  jealousy,  and  that 
once  Mrs.  Murreyfield  had  to  interfere.  I  admit 
that  I  was  jealous.  When  a  man  loves  with 
the  whole  strength  of  his  soul  it  is  impossible,  I 
think,  that  he  should  be  clear  of  jealousy.  The 
girl  was  of  a  very  independent  spirit.  I  found 
that  she  knew  many  officers  at  Chelmsford  and 
Colchester.  She  would  disappear  for  hours  to- 
gether upon  her  motor-cycle.  There  were  ques- 
tions about  her  past  life  which  she  would  only 
answer  with  a  smile  unless  they  were  closely 
pressed.  Then  the  smile  would  become  a  frown. 
Is  it  any  wonder  that  I,  with  my  whole  nature 
vibrating  with  passionate,  whole-hearted  love, 
was  often  torn  by  jealousy  when  I  came  upon 
those  closed  doors  of  her  life  which  she  was 
so  determined  not  to  open?  Reason  came  at 
times  and  whispered  how  foolish  it  was  that  I 

[241] 


THE    PRISONERS   DEFENCE 


should  stake  my  whole  life  and  soul  upon  one 
of  whom  I  really  knew  nothing.  Then  came  a 
wave  of  passion  once  more  and  reason  was  sub- 
merged. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  closed  doors  of  her  life. 
I  was  aware  that  a  young,  unmarried  French- 
woman has  usually  less  liberty  than  her  English 
sister.  And  yet  in  the  case  of  this  lady  it  con- 
tinually came  out  in  her  conversation  that  she 
had  seen  and  known  much  of  the  world.  It 
was  the  more  distressing  to  me  as  whenever  she 
had  made  an  observation  which  pointed  to  this 
she  would  afterwards,  as  I  could  plainly  see,  be 
annoyed  by  her  own  indiscretion,  and  endeavour 
to  remove  the  impression  by  every  means  in  her 
power.  We  had  several  small  quarrels  on  this 
account,  when  I  asked  questions  to  which  I 
could  get  no  answers,  but  they  have  been  exag- 
gerated in  the  address  for  the  prosecution.  Too . 
much  has  been  made  also  of  the  intervention  of 
Mrs.  Murreyfield,  though  I  admit  that  the  quar- 
rel was  more  serious  upon  that  occasion.  It 
arose  from  my  finding  the  photograph  of  a  man 
upon  her  table,  and  her  evident  confusion  when 
[242] 


THE    PRISONER  S   DEFENCE 


I  asked  her  for  some  particulars  about  him.  The 
name  "H.  Vardin"  was  written  underneath — 
evidently  an  autograph.  I  was  worried  by  the 
fact  that  this  photograph  had  the  frayed  appear- 
ance of  one  which  has  been  carried  secretly  about, 
as  a  girl  might  conceal  the  picture  of  her  lover  in 
her  dress.  She  absolutely  refused  to  give  me 
any  information  about  him,  save  to  make  a 
statement  which  I  found  incredible,  that  it  was 
a  man  whom  she  had  never  seen  in  her  life.  It 
was  then  that  I  forgot  myself.  I  raised  my  voice 
and  declared  that  I  should  know  more  about  her 
life  or  that  I  should  break  with  her,  even  if  my 
own  heart  should  be  broken  in  the  parting.  I 
was  not  violent,  but  Mrs.  Murreyfield  heard  me 
from  the  passage,  and  came  into  the  room  to 
remonstrate.  She  was  a  kind,  motherly  person 
who  took  a  sympathetic  interest  in  our  romance, 
and  I  remember  that  on  this  occasion  she  re- 
proved me  for  my  jealousy  and  finally  persuaded 
me  that  I  had  been  unreasonable,  so  that  we 
became  reconciled  once  more.  Ena  was  so  madly 
fascinating  and  I  so  hopelessly  her  slave  that  she 
could  always  draw  me  back,  however  much  pru- 
dence and  reason  warned  me  to  escape  from  her 

[243] 


THE   PRISONERS   DEFENCE 


control.  I  tried  again  and  again  to  find  out 
about  this  man  Vardin,  but  was  always  met  by 
the  same  assurance,  which  she  repeated  with  every 
kind  of  solemn  oath,  that  she  had  never  seen  the 
man  in  her  life.  Why  she  should  carry  about  the 
photograph  of  a  man — a  young,  somewhat 
sinister  man,  for  I  had  observed  him  closely  be- 
fore she  snatched  the  picture  from  my  hand — 
was  what  she  either  could  not,  or  would  not, 
explain. 

Then  came  the  time  for  my  leaving  Radchurch. 
I  had  been  appointed  to  a  junior  but  very  re- 
sponsible post  at  the  War  Office,  which,  of  course, 
entailed  my  living  in  London.  Even  my  week- 
ends found  me  engrossed  with  my  work,  but  at 
last  I  had  a  few  days'  leave  of  absence.  It  is 
those  few  days  which  have  ruined  my  life,  which 
have  brought  me  the  most  horrible  experience 
that  ever  a  man  had  to  undergo,  and  have  finally 
placed  me  here  in  the  dock,  pleading  as  I  plead 
to-day  for  my  life  and  my  honour. 

It  is  nearly  five  miles  from  the  station  to  Rad- 
church. She  was  there  to  meet  me.  It  was  the 
first  time  that  we  had  been  reunited  since  I  had 
put  all  my  heart  and  my  soul  upon  her.  I  can- 
[244] 


THE   PRISONERS   DEFENCE 


not  enlarge  upon  these  matters,  gentlemen.  You 
will  either  be  able  to  sympathise  with  and  under- 
stand the  emotions  which  overbalance  a  man  at 
such  a  time,  or  you  will  not.  If  you  have 
imagination,  you  will.  If  you  have  not,  I  can 
never  hope  to  make  you  see  more  than  the  bare 
fact.  That  bare  fact,  placed  in  the  baldest 
language,  is  that  during  this  drive  from  Rad- 
church  Junction  to  the  village  I  was  led  into  the 
greatest  indiscretion — the  greatest  dishonour,  if 
you  will — of  my  life.  I  told  the  woman  a  secret, 
an  enormously  important  secret,  which  might 
affect  the  fate  of  the  war  and  the  lives  of  many 
thousands  of  men. 

It  was  done  before  I  knew  it — before  I  grasped 
the  way  in  which  her  quick  brain  could  place 
various  scattered  hints  together  and  weave  them 
into  one  idea.  She  was  wailing,  almost  weeping, 
over  the  fact  that  the  allied  armies  were  held  up 
by  the  iron  line  of  the  Germans.  I  explained 
that  it  was  more  correct  to  say  that  our  iron  line 
[was  holding  them  up,  since  they  were  the  invaders. 
"But  is  France,  is  Belgium,  never  to  be  rid  of 
them?"  she  cried.  "Are  we  simply  to  sit  in  front 
of  their  trenches  and  be  content  to  let  them  do 

[245] 


THE    PRISONER  S   DEFENCE 


what  they  will  with  ten  provinces  of  France  ?  Oh, 
Jack,  Jack,  for  God's  sake,  say  something  to 
bring  a  little  hope  to  my  heart,  for  sometimes  I 
think  that  it  is  breaking !  You  English  are  stolid. 
You  can  bear  these  things.  But  we  others,  we 
have  more  nerve,  more  soul!  It  is  death  to  us. 
Tell  me!  Do  tell  me  that  there  is  hope!  And 
yet  it  is  foolish  of  me  to  ask,  for,  of  course,  you 
are  only  a  subordinate  at  the  War  Office,  and  how 
should  you  know  what  is  in  the  mind  of  your 
chiefs?" 

"Well,  as  it  happens,  I  know  a  good  deal,"  I 
answered.  "Don't  fret,  for  we  shall  certainly  get 
a  move  on  soon." 

"Soon!  Next  year  may  seem  soon  to  some 
people." 

"It's  not  next  year." 

"Must  we  wait  another  month?" 

"Not  even  that." 

She  squeezed  my  hand  in  hers.  "Oh,  my 
darling  boy,  you  have  brought  such  joy  to  my 
heart!  What  suspense  I  shall  live  in  now!  I 
think  a  week  of  it  would  kill  me." 

"Well,  perhaps  it  won't  even  be  a  week." 

"And  tell  me,"  she  went  on,  in  her  coaxing 
[246] 


THE    PRISONERS   DEFENCE 


voice,  "tell  me  just  one  thing,  Jack.  Just  one, 
and  I  will  trouble  you  no  more.  Is  it  our  brave 
French  soldiers  who  advance?  Or  is  it  your 
splendid  Tommies?  With  whom  will  the  honour 
lie?" 

"With  both." 

"Glorious!"  she  cried.  "I  see  it  all.  The 
attack  will  be  at  the  point  where  the  French  and 
British  lines  join.  Together  they  will  rush  for- 
ward in  one  glorious  advance." 

"No,"  I  said.     "They  will  not  be  together." 

"But  I  understood  you  to  say — of  course, 
women  know  nothing  of  such  matters,  but  I 
understood  you  to  say  that  it  would  be  a  joint 
advance." 

"Well,  if  the  French  advanced,  we  will  say,  at 
Verdun,  and  the  British  advanced  at  Ypres,  even 
if  they  were  hundreds  of  miles  apart  it  would 
still  be  a  joint  advance." 

"Ah,  I  see,"  she  cried,  clapping  her  hands  with 
delight.  "They  would  advance  at  both  ends  of 
the  line,  so  that  the  Boches  would  not  know  which 
way  to  send  their  reserves." 

"That  is  exactly  the  idea — a  real  advance  at 
Verdun,  and  an  enormous  feint  at  Ypres." 

[247] 


THE    PRISONER  S   DEFENCE 


Then  suddenly  a  chill  of  doubt  seized  me.  I 
can  remember  how  I  sprang  back  from  her  and 
looked  hard  into  her  face.  "I've  told  you  too 
much  1"  I  cried.  "Can  I  trust  you?  I  have  been 
mad  to  say  so  much." 

She  was  bitterly  hurt  by  my  words.  That  I 
should  for  a  moment  doubt  her  was  more  than 
she  could  bear.  "I  would  cut  my  tongue  out, 
Jack,  before  I  would  tell  any  human  being  one 
word  of  what  you  have  said."  So  earnest  was  she 
that  my  fears  died  away.  I  felt  that  I  could 
trust  her  utterly.  Before  we  had  reached  Rad- 
church  I  had  put  the  matter  from  my  mind,  and 
we  were  lost  in  our  joy  of  the  present  and  in  our 
plans  for  the  future. 

I  had  a  business  message  to  deliver  to  Colonel 
Worral,  who  commanded  a  small  camp  at  Pedley- 
Woodrow.  I  went  there  and  was  away  for  about 
two  hours.  When  I  returned  I  inquired  for  Miss 
Gamier,  and  was  told  by  the  maid  that  she  had 
gone  to  her  bedroom,  and  that  she  had  asked  the 
groom  to  bring  her  motor-bicycle  to  the  door. 
It  seemed  to  me  strange  that  she  should  arrange 
to  go  out  alone  when  my  visit  was  such  a  short 
one.  I  had  gone  into  her  little  study  to  seek  her, 
[248] 


THE    PRISONER  S   DEFENCE 


and  here  it  was  that  I  waited,  for  it  opened  on  to 
the  hall  passage,  and  she  could  not  pass  without 
my  seeing  her. 

There  was  a  small  table  in  the  window  of  this 
room  at  which  she  used  to  write.  I  had  seated 
myself  beside  this  when  my  eyes  fell  upon  a 
name  written  in  her  large,  bold  hand-writing.  It 
was  a  reversed  impression  upon  the  blotting- 
paper  which  she  had  used,  but  there  could  be  no 
difficulty  in  reading  it.  The  name  was  Hubert 
Vardin.  Apparently  it  was  part  of  the  address 
of  an  envelope,  for  underneath  I  was  able  to 
distinguish  the  initials  S.  W.,  referring  to  a  postal 
division  of  London,  though  the  actual  name  of 
the  street  had  not  been  clearly  reproduced. 

Then  I  knew  for  the  first  time  that  she  was 
actually  corresponding  with  this  man  whose  vile, 
voluptuous  face  I  had  seen  in  the  photograph 
with  the  frayed  edges.  She  had  clearly  lied  to 
me,  too,  for  was  it  conceivable  that  she  should 
correspond  with  a  man  whom  she  had  never  seen? 
I  don't  desire  to  condone  my  conduct.  Put  your- 
self in  my  place.  Imagine  that  you  had  my 
desperately  fervid  and  jealous  nature.  You 
would  have  done  what  I  did,  for  you  could  have 

[249] 


THE    PRISONERS   DEFENCE 


done  nothing  else.  A  wave  of  fury  passed  over 
me.  I  laid  my  hands  upon  the  wooden-writing 
desk.  If  it  had  been  an  iron  safe  I  should  have 
opened  it.  As  it  was,  it  literally  flew  to  pieces 
before  me.  There  lay  the  letter  itself,  placed 
under  lock  and  key  for  safety,  while  the  writer 
prepared  to  take  it  from  the  house.  I  had  no 
hesitation  or  scruple.  I  tore  it  open.  Dis- 
honourable, you  will  say,  but  when  a  man  is 
frenzied  with  jealousy  he  hardly  knows  what  he 
does.  This  woman,  for  whom  I  was  ready  to 
give  everything,  was  either  faithful  to  me  or  she 
was  not.  At  any  cost  I  would  know  which. 

A  thrill  of  joy  passed  through  me  as  my  eyes 
fell  upon  the  first  words.  I  had  wronged  her. 
"Cher  Monsieur  Vardin."  So  the  letter  began. 
It  was  clearly  a  business  letter,  nothing  else. 
I  was  about  to  replace  it  in  the  envelope  with  a 
thousand  regrets  in  my  mind  for  my  want  of 
faith  when  a  single  word  at  the  bottom  of  the  page 
caught  my  eyes,  and  I  started  as  if  I  had  been 
stung  by  an  adder.  "Verdun" — that  was  the 
word.  I  looked  again.  "Ypres"  was  immedi- 
ately below  it.  I  sat  down,  horror-stricken,  by 
[250] 


THE   PRISONER  S  DEFENCE 


the  broken  desk,  and  I  read  this  letter,  a  transla- 
tion of  which  I  have  in  my  hand : — 

MURBEYFIELD    HOUSE,    RADCHTJBCH. 

DEAR  M.  VARDIN, — Stringer  has  told  me  that 
he  has  kept  you  sufficiently  informed  as  to 
Chelmsford  and  Colchester,  so  I  have  not 
troubled  to  write.  They  have  moved  the  Midland 
Territorial  Brigade  and  the  heavy  guns  towards 
the  coast  near  Cromer,  but  only  for  a  time.  It 
is  for  training,  not  embarkation. 

And  now  for  my  great  news,  which  I  have 
straight  from  the  War  Office  itself.  Within  a 
week  there  is  to  be  a  very  severe  attack  from 
Verdun,  which  is  to  be  supported  by  a  holding 
attack  at  Ypres.  It  is  all  on  a  very  large  scale, 
and  you  must  send  off  a  special  Dutch  messenger 
to  Von  Starmer  by  the  first  boat.  I  hope  to 
get  the  exact  date  and  some  further  particulars 
from  my  informant  to-night,  but  meanwhile  you 
must  act  with  energy. 

I  dare  not  post  this  here — you  know  what  vil- 
lage postmasters  are,  so  I  am  taking  it  into 
Colchester,  where  Stringer  will  include  it  with  his 
own  report  which  goes  by  hand. — Yours  faith- 
fully, SOPHIA  HEFFNER. 

I  was  stunned  at  first  as  I  read  this  letter, 

[251] 


THE   PRISONER  S  DEFENCE 


and  then  a  kind  of  cold,  concentrated  rage  came 
over  me.  So  this  woman  was  a  German  and  a 
spy!  I  thought  of  her  hypocrisy  and  her 
treachery  towards  me,  but,  above  all,  I  thought 
of  the  danger  to  the  Army  and  the  State.  A 
great  defeat,  the  death  of  thousands  of  men, 
might  spring  from  my  misplaced  confidence. 
There  was  still  time,  by  judgment  and  energy,  to 
stop  this  frightful  evil.  I  heard  her  step  upon 
the  stairs  outside,  and  an  instant  later  she  had 
come  through  the  doorway.  She  started,  and 
her  face  was  bloodless  as  she  saw  me  seated  there 
with  the  open  letter  in  my  hand. 

"How  did  you  get  that?"  she  gasped.  "How 
dared  you  break  my  desk  and  steal  my  letter?" 

I  said  nothing.  I  simply  sat  and  looked  at  her 
and  pondered  what  I  should  do.  She  suddenly 
sprang  forward  and  tried  to  snatch  the  letter.  I 
caught  her  wrist  and  pushed  her  down  on  to 
the  sofa,  where  she  lay,  collapsed.  Then  I  rang 
the  bell,  and  told  the  maid  that  I  must  see  Mr. 
Murreyfield  at  once. 

jJe  was  a  genial,  elderly  man,  who  had  treated 
this  woman  with  as  much  kindness  as  if  she  were 
his  daughter.  He  was  horrified  at  what  I  said. 
[252] 


THE   PRISONER  S  DEFENCE 


I  could  not  show  him  the  letter  on  account  of  the 
secret  that  it  contained,  but  I  made  him  under- 
stand that  it  was  of  desperate  importance. 

"What  are  we  to  do?"  he  asked.  "I  never  could 
have  imagined  anything  so  dreadful.  What  would 
you  advise  us  to  do?" 

"There  is  only  one  thing  that  we  can  do,"  I 
answered.  "This  woman  must  be  arrested,  and 
in  the  meanwhile  we  must  so  arrange  matters  that 
she  cannot  possibly  communicate  with  any  one. 
For  all  we  know,  she  has  confederates  in  this 
very  village.  Can  you  undertake  to  hold  her 
securely  while  I  go  to  Colonel  Worral  at  Pedle^ 
and  get  a  warrant  and  a  guard?" 

"We  can  lock  her  in  her  bedroom." 

"You  need  not  trouble,"  said  she.  "I  give  you 
my  word  that  I  will  stay  where  I  am.  I  advise 
you  to  be  careful,  Captain  Fowler.  You've 
shown  once  before  that  you  are  liable  to  do  things 
before  you  have  thought  of  the  consequence.  If 
I  am  arrested  all  the  world  will  know  that  you 
have  given  away  the  secrets  that  were  confided 
to  you.  There  is  an  end  of  your  career,  my 
friend.  You  can  punish  me,  no  doubt.  What 
about  yourself?" 

[253] 


THE   PRISONER  S  DEFENCE 


"I  think,"  said  I,  "you  had  best  take  her  to 
her  bedroom." 

"Very  good,  if  you  wish  it,"  said  she,  and 
followed  us  to  the  door.  When  we  reached  the 
hall  she  suddenly  broke  away,  dashed  through  the 
entrance,  and  made  for  her  motor-bicycle,  which 
was  standing  there.  Before  she  could  start  we 
had  both  seized  her.  She  stooped  and  made  her 
teeth  meet  in  Murreyfield's  hand.  With  flashing 
eyes  and  tearing  fingers  she  was  as  fierce  as  a  wild 
cat  at  bay.  It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  we 
mastered  her,  and  dragged  her — almost  carried 
her — up  the  stairs.  We  thrust  her  into  her  room 
and  turned  the  key,  while  she  screamed  out  abuse 
and  beat  upon  the  door  inside. 

"It's  a  forty-foot  drop  into  the  garden,"  said 
Murreyfield,  tying  up  his  bleeding  hand.  "I'll 
wait  here  till  you  come  back.  I  think  we  have 
the  lady  fairly  safe." 

'I  have  a  revolver  here,"  said  I.  "You  should 
be  armed."  I  slipped  a  couple  of  cartridges 
into  it  and  held  it  out  to  him.  "We  can't  afford 
to  take  chances.  How  do  you  know  what  friends 
she  may  have?" 

"Thank  you,"  said  he.  "I  have  a  stick  here, 
[254] 


THE    PRISONERS   DEFENCE 


and  the  gardener  is  within  call.  Do  you  hurry 
off  for  the  guard,  and  I  will  answer  for  the 
prisoner." 

Having  taken,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  every  pos- 
sible precaution,  I  ran  to  give  the  alarm.  It 
was  two  miles  to  Pedley,  and  the  colonel  was  out, 
which  occasioned  some  delay.  Then  there  were 
formalities  and  a  magistrate's  signature  to  be  ob- 
tained. A  policeman  was  to  serve  the  warrant, 
but  a  military  escort  was  to  be  sent  in  to  bring 
back  the  prisoner.  I  was  so  rilled  with  anxiety 
and  impatience  that  I  could  not  wait,  but  I 
hurried  back  alone  with  the  promise  that  they 
would  follow. 

The  Pedley- Woodrowr  Road  opens  into  the 
high-road  to  Colchester  at  a  point  about  half  a 
mile  from  the  village  of  Radchurch.  It  was 
evening  now  and  the  light  was  such  that  one 
could  not  see  more  than  twenty  or  thirty  yards 
ahead.  I  had  proceeded  only  a  very  short  way 
from  the  point  of  junction  when  I  heard,  coming 
towards  me,  the  roar  of  a  motor-cycle  being 
ridden  at  a  furious  pace.  It  was  without  lights, 
and  close  upon  me.  I  sprang  aside  in  order 
to  avoid  being  ridden  down,  and  in  that  instant, 

[255] 


THE    PRISONER  S   DEFENCE 


as  the  machine  flashed  by,  I  saw  clearly  the  face 
of  the  rider.  It  was  she — the  woman  whom  I 
had  loved.  She  was  hatless,  her  hair  streaming 
in  the  wind,  her  face  glimmering  white  in  the 
twilight,  flying  through  the  night  like  one  of  the 
Valkyries  of  her  native  land.  She  was  past  me 
like  a  flash  and  tore  on  down  the  Colchester 
Road.  In  that  instant  I  saw  all  that  it  would 
mean  if  she  could  reach  the  town.  If  she  once 
was  allowed  to  see  her  agent  we  might  arrest 
him  or  her,  but  it  would  be  too  late.  The  news 
would  have  been  passed  on.  The  victory  of  the 
Allies  and  the  lives  of  thousands  of  our  soldiers 
were  at  stake.  Next  instant  I  had  pulled  out 
the  loaded  revolver  and  fired  two  shots  after  the 
vanishing  figure,  already  only  a  dark  blur  in  the 
dusk.  I  heard  a  scream,  the  crashing  of  the 
breaking  cycle,  and  all  was  still. 

I  need  not  tell  you  more,  gentlemen.  You 
know  the  rest.  When  I  ran  forward  I  found  her 
lying  in  the  ditch.  Both  of  my  bullets  had 
struck  her.  One  of  them  had  penetrated  her 
brain.  I  was  still  standing  beside  her  body  when 
Murreyfield  arrived,  running  breathlessly  down 
the  road.  She  had,  it  seemed,  with  great  courage 
[256] 


THE   PRISONER  S   DEFENCE 


and  activity  scrambled  down  the  ivy  of  the  wall ; 
only  when  he  heard  the  whirr  of  the  cycle  did  he 
realise  what  had  occurred.  He  was  explaining 
it  to  my  dazed  brain  when  the  police  and  soldiers 
arrived  to  arrest  her.  By  the  irony  of  fate  it  was 
me  whom  they  arrested  instead. 

It  was  urged  at  the  trial  in  the  police-court 
that  jealousy  was  the  cause  of  the  crime.  I  did 
not  deny  it,  nor  did  I  put  forward  any  witnesses 
to  deny  it.  It  was  my  desire  that  they  should 
believe  it.  The  hour  of  the  French  advance  had 
not  yet  come,  and  I  could  not  defend  myself  with- 
out producing  the  letter  which  would  reveal  it. 
But  now  it  is  over — gloriously  over — and  so  my 
lips  are  unsealed  at  last.  I  confess  my  fault — 
my  very  grievous  fault.  But  it  is  not  that  for 
which  you  are  trying  me.  It  is  for  murder.  I 
should  have  thought  myself  the  murderer  of  my 
own  countrymen  if  I  had  let  the  woman  pass. 

These  are  the  facts,  gentlemen.  I  leave  my 
future  in  your  hands.  If  you  should  absolve  me 
I  may  say  that  I  have  hopes  of  serving  my  coun- 
try in  a  fashion  which  will  atone  for  this  one  great 
indiscretion,  and  will  also,  as  I  hope,  end  for 

[257] 


THE   PKISONER  S  DEFENCE 


ever  those  terrible  recollections  which  weigh  me 
down.  If  you  condemn  me,  I  am  ready  to  face 
whatever  you  may  think  fit  to  inflict. 


[258] 


X 

THREE    OF    THEM 

I. — A  CHAT  ABOUT  CHILDREN,  SNAKES,  AND  ZEBUS 

rpHESE  little  sketches  are  called  "Three  of 
A  Them,'*  but  there  are  really  five,  on  and 
off  the  stage.  There  is  Daddy,  a  lumpish 
person  with  some  gift  for  playing  Indian  games 
when  he  is  in  the  mood.  He  is  then  known  as 
"The  Great  Chief  of  the  Leatherskin  Tribe." 
Then  there  is  my  Lady  Sunshine.  These  are  the 
grown-ups,  and  don't  really  count.  There  remain 
the  three,  who  need  some  differentiating  upon 
paper,  though  their  little  spirits  are  as  different 
in  reality  as  spirits  could  be — all  beautiful  and 
all  quite  different.  The  eldest  is  a  boy  of  eight 
whom  we  shall  call  "Laddie."  If  ever  there  was 
a  little  cavalier  sent  down  ready-made  it  is  he. 
His  soul  is  the  most  gallant,  unselfish,  innocent 

[259] 


THREE   OF   THEM 


thing  that  ever  God  sent  out  to  get  an  extra 
polish  upon  earth.  It  dwells  in  a  tall,  slight, 
well-formed  body,  graceful  and  agile,  with  a 
head  and  face  as  clean-cut  as  if  an  old  Greek 
cameo  had  come  to  life,  and  a  pair  of  innocent 
and  yet  wise  grey  eyes  that  read  and  win  the 
heart.  He  is  shy  and  does  not  shine  before 
strangers.  I  have  said  that  he  is  unselfish  and 
brave.  When  there  is  the  usual  wrangle  about 
going  to  bed,  up  he  gets  in  his  sedate  way.  "I 
will  go  first,"  says  he,  and  off  he  goes,  the  eldest, 
that  the  others  may  have  the  few  extra  minutes 
while  he  is  in  his  bath.  As  to  his  courage,  he  is 
absolutely  lion-hearted  where  he  can  help  or 
defend  any  one  else.  On  one  occasion  Daddy 
lost  his  temper  with  Dimples  (Boy  Number  2), 
and,  not  without  very  good  provocation,  gave 
him  a  tap  on  the  side  of  the  head. .  Next  instant 
he  felt  a  butt  down  somewhere  in  the  region  of 
his  waist-belt,  and  there  was  an  angry  little  red 
face  looking  up  at  him,  which  turned  suddenly 
to  a  brown  mop  of  hair  as  the  butt  was  repeated. 
No  one,  not  even  Daddy,  should  hit  his  little 
brother.  Such  was  Laddie,  the  gentle  and  the 
fearless. 
[260] 


THREE   OF   THEM 


Then  there  is  Dimples.  Dimples  is  nearly 
seven,  and  you  never  saw  a  rounder,  softer, 
dimplier  face,  with  two  great  roguish,  mischiev- 
ous eyes  of  wood-pigeon  grey,  which  are  spark- 
ling with  fun  for  the  most  part,  though  they  can 
look  sad  and  solemn  enough  at  times.  Dimples 
has  the  making  of  a  big  man  in  him.  He  has 
depth  and  reserve  in  his  tiny  soul.  But  on  the 
surface  he  is  a  boy  of  boys,  always  in  innocent 
mischief.  "I  will  now  do  mischuff ,"  he  occasion- 
ally announces,  and  is  usually  as  good  as  his  word. 
He  has  a  love  and  understanding  of  all  living 
creatures,  the  uglier  and  more  slimy  the  better, 
treating  them  all  in  a  tender,  fairy-like  fashion 
which  seems  to  come  from  some  inner  knowledge. 
He  has  been  found  holding  a  buttercup  under 
the  mouth  of  a  slug  "to  see  if  he  likes  butter." 
He  finds  creatures  in  an  astonishing  way.  Put 
him  in  the  fairest  garden  lawn,  and  presently  he 
will  approach  you  with  a  newt,  a  toad,  or  a  huge 
snail  in  his  custody.  Nothing  would  ever  induce 
him  to  hurt  them,  but  he  gives  them  what  he 
imagines  to  be  a  little  treat  and  then  restores 
them  to  their  homes.  He  has  been  known  to 
speak  bitterly  to  the  Lady  when  she  has  given 

[261] 


THREE   OF  THEM 


orders  that  caterpillars  be  killed  if  found  upon 
the  cabbages,  and  even  the  explanation  that  the 
caterpillars  were  doing  the  work  of  what  he  calls 
"the  Jarmans"  did  not  reconcile  him  to  their 
fate. 

He  has  an  advantage  over  Laddie,  in  that  he 
suffers  from  no  trace  of  shyness  and  is  perfectly 
friendly  in  an  instant  with  any  one  of  every  class 
of  life,  plunging  straight  into  conversation  with 
some  such  remark  as  "Can  your  Daddy  give  a 
war-whoop?"  or  "Were  you  ever  chased  by  a 
bear?"  He  is  a  sunny  creature  but  combative 
sometimes,  when  he  draws  down  his  brows,  sets 
his  eyes,  his  chubby  cheeks  flush,  and  his  lips  go 
back  from  his  almond-white  teeth.  "I  am  Swan- 
kie  the  Berserker,"  says  he,  quoting  out  of  his 
favourite  "Erling  the  Bold,"  which  Daddy  reads 
aloud  at  bed-time.  When  he  is  in  this  fighting 
mood  he  can  even  drive  back  Laddie,  chiefly  be- 
cause the  elder  is  far  too  chivalrous  to  hurt  him. 
If  you  want  to  see  what  Laddie  can  really  do, 
put  the  small  gloves  on  him  and  let  him  go  for 
Daddy.  Some  of  those  hurricane  rallies  of  his 
would  stop  Daddy  grinning  if  they  could  get 
[262] 


THREE   OF   THEM 


home,  and  he  has  to  fall  back  off  his  stool  in  order 
to  get  away  from  them. 

If  that  latent  power  of  Dimples  should  ever 
come  out,  how  will  it  be  manifest?  Surely  in  his 
imagination.  Tell  him  a  story  and  the  boy  is 
lost.  He  sits  with  his  little  round,  rosy  face  im- 
movable and  fixed,  while  his  eyes  never  budge 
from  those  of  the  speaker.  He  sucks  in  every- 
thing that  is  weird  or  adventurous  or  wild. 
Laddie  is  a  rather  restless  soul,  eager  to  be  up 
and  doing;  but  Dimples  is  absorbed  in  the  present 
if  there  be  something  worth  hearing  to  be  heard. 
In  height  he  is  half  a  head  shorter  than  his 
brother,  but  rather  more  sturdy  in  build.  The 
power  of  his  voice  is  one  of  his  noticeable  char- 
acteristics. If  Dimples  is  coming  you  know  it 
well  in  advance.  With  that  physical  gift  upon 
the  top  of  his  audacity,  and  his  loquacity,  he 
fairly  takes  command  of  any  place  in  which  he 
may  find  himself,  while  Laddie,  his  soul  too 
noble  for  jealousy,  becomes  one  of  the  laughing 
and  admiring  audience. 

Then  there  is  Baby,  a  dainty  elfin  Dresden- 
china  little  creature  of  five,  as  fair  as  an  angel 
and  as  deep  as  a  well.  The  boys  are  but  shallow, 

[263] 


THREE   OF   THEM 


sparkling  pools  compared  with  this  little  girl 
with  her  self-repression  and  dainty  aloofness. 
You  know  the  boys,  you  never  feel  that  you  quite 
know  the  girl.  Something  very  strong  and 
forceful  seems  to  be  at  the  back  of  that  wee  body. 
Her  will  is  tremendous.  Nothing  can  break  or 
even  bend  it.  Only  kind  guidance  and  friendly 
reasoning  can  mould  it.  The  boys  are  helpless 
if  she  has  really  made  up  her  mind.  But  this  is 
only  when  she  asserts  herself,  and  those  are  rare 
occasions.  As  a  rule  she  sits  quiet,  aloof,  affable, 
keenly  alive  to  all  that  passes  and  yet  taking  no 
part  in  it  save  for  some  subtle  smile  or  glance. 
And  then  suddenly  the  wonderful  grey-blue  eyes 
under  the  long  black  lashes  will  gleam  like  coy 
diamonds,  and  such  a  hearty  little  chuckle  will 
come  from  her  that  every  one  else  is  bound  to 
laugh  out  of  sympathy.  She  and  Dimples  are 
great  allies  and  yet  have  continual  lovers'  quar- 
rels. One  night  she  would  not  even  include  his 
name  in  her  prayers,  "God  bless —  "  every  one 
else,  but  not  a  word  of  Dimples.  "Come,  come, 
you  must!"  urged  the  Lady.  "Well,  then,  God 
bless  horrid  Dimples!"  said  she  at  last,  after  she 
[264] 


THREE   OF  THEM 


had  named  the  cat,  the  goat,  her  dolls,  and  her 
Wriggly. 

That  is  a  strange  trait,  the  love  for  the 
Wriggly.  It  would  repay  thought  from  some 
scientific  brain.  It  is  an  old,  faded,  disused 
downy  from  her  cot.  Yet  go  where  she  will, 
she  must  take  Wriggly  with  her.  All  her  toys 
put  together  would  not  console  her  for  the  ab- 
sence of  Wriggly.  If  the  family  go  to  the  sea- 
side, Wriggly  must  come  too.  She  will  not 
sleep  without  the  absurd  bundle  in  her  arms.  If 
she  goes  to  a  party  she  insists  upon  dragging  its 
disreputable  folds  along  with  her,  one  end  always 
projecting  "to  give  it  fresh  air."  Every  phase  of 
childhood  represents  to  the  philosopher  some- 
thing in  the  history  of  the  race.  From  the  new- 
born baby  which  can  hang  easily  by  one  hand 
from  a  broomstick  with  its  legs  drawn  up  under 
it,  the  whole  evolution  of  mankind  is  re-enacted. 
You  can  trace  clearly  the  cave-dweller,  the 
hunter,  the  scout.  What,  then,  does  Wriggly 
represent?  Fetish  worship — nothing  else.  The 
savage  chooses  some  most  unlikely  thing  and 
adores  it.  This  dear  little  savage  adores  her 
Wriggly. 

[265] 


THREE   OF   THEM 


So  now  we  have  our  three  little  figures  drawn 
as  clearly  as  a  clumsy  pen  can  follow  such  subtle 
elusive  creatures  of  mood  and  fancy.  We  will 
suppose  now  that  it  is  a  summer  evening,  that 
Daddy  is  seated  smoking  in  his  chair,  that  the 
Lady  is  listening  somewhere  near,  and  that  the 
three  are  in  a  tumbled  heap  upon  the  bearskin 
before  the  empty  fireplace  trying  to  puzzle  out 
the  little  problems  of  their  tiny  lives.  When 
three  children  play  with  a  new  thought  it  is  like 
three  kittens  with  a  ball,  one  giving  it  a  pat  and 
another  a  pat,  as  they  chase  it  from  point  to 
point.  Daddy  would  interfere  as  little  as  pos- 
sible, save  when  he  was  called  upon  to  explain 
or  to  deny.  It  was  usually  wiser  for  him  to 
pretend  to  be  doing  something  else.  Then  their 
talk  was  the  more  natural.  On  this  occasion, 
however,  he  was  directly  appealed  to. 

"Daddy!"  asked  Dimples. 

"Yes,  boy." 

"Do  you  fink  that  the  roses  know  us?" 

Dimples,  in  spite  of  his  impish  naughtiness, 

had  a  way  of  looking  such  a  perfectly  innocent 

and  delightfully  kissable  little  person  that  one 

felt  he  really  might  be  a  good  deal  nearer  to  the 

[266] 


THBEE   OF  THEM 


sweet  secrets  of  Nature  than  his  elders.  How- 
ever, Daddy  was  in  a  material  mood. 

"No,  boy;  how  could  the  roses  know  us?" 

"The  big  yellow  rose  at  the  corner  of  the  gate 
knows  me" 

"How  do  you  know  that?" 

"  'Cause  it  nodded  to  me  yesterday." 

Laddie  roared  with  laughter. 

"That  was  just  the  wind,  Dimples." 

"No,  it  was  not,"  said  Dimples,  with  convic- 
tion. "There  was  none  wind.  Baby  was  there. 
Weren't  you,  Baby?" 

"The  wose  knew  us,"  said  Baby,  gravely. 

"Beasts  know  us,"  said  Laddie.  "But  then 
beasts  run  round  and  make  noises.  Roses  don't 
make  noises." 

"Yes,  they  do.     They  rustle." 

"Woses  wustle,"  said  Baby. 

"That's  not  a  living  noise.  That's  an  all-the- 
same  noise.  Different  to  Roy,  who  barks  and 
makes  different  noises  all  the  time.  Fancy  the 
roses  all  barkin'  at  you.  Daddy,  will  you  tell 
us  about  animals?" 

That  is  one  of  the  child  stages  which  takes 
us  back  to  the  old  tribe  life — their  inexhaustible 

[267] 


THEEE    OF   THEM 


interest  in  animals,  some  distant  echo  of  those 
long  nights  when  wild  men  sat  round  the  fires 
and  peered  out  into  the  darkness,  and  whispered 
about  all  the  strange  and  deadly  creatures  who 
fought  with  them  for  the  lordship  of  the  earth. 
Children  love  caves,  and  they  love  fires  and 
meals  out  of  doors,  and  they  love  animal  talk — 
all  relics  of  the  far  distant  past. 

"What  is  the  biggest  animal  in  South  America, 
Daddy?" 

Daddy,  wearily:  "Oh,  I  don't  know." 

"I  s'pose  an  elephant  would  be  the  biggest?" 

"No,  boy;  there  are  none  in  South  America." 

"Well,  then,  a  rhinoceros?" 

"No,  there  are  none." 

"Well,  what  is  there,  Daddy?" 

"Well,  dear,  there  are  jaguars.  I  suppose  a 
jaguar  is  the  biggest." 

"Then  it  must  be  thirty-six  feet  long." 

"Oh,  no,  boy;  about  eight  or  nine  feet  with  his 
tail/ 

"But  there  are  boa-constrictors  in  South 
America  thirty-six  feet  long." 

"That's  different." 

"Do  you  fink,"  asked  Dimples,  with  his  big, 
[268] 


THREE    OF   THEM 


solemn,  grey  eyes  wide  open,  "there  was  ever  a 
boa-'strictor  forty-five  feet  long?" 

"No,  dear;  I  never  heard  of  one." 

"Perhaps  there  was  one,  but  you  never  heard 
of  it.  Do  you  fink  you  would  have  heard  of  a 
boa-'strictor  forty-five  feet  long  if  there  was  one 
in  South  America?" 

"Well,  there  may  have  been  one." 

"Daddy,"  said  Laddie,  carrying  on  the  cross- 
examination  with  the  intense  earnestness  of  a 
child,  "could  a  boa-contrictor  swallow  any  small 
animal?" 

"Yes,  of  course  he  could." 

"Could  he  swallow  a  jaguar?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  that.  A  jaguar 
is  a  very  large  animal." 

"Well,  then,"  asked  Dimples,  "could  a  jaguar 
swallow  a  boa-'strictor?" 

"Silly  ass,"  said  Laddie.  "If  a  jaguar  was 
only  nine  feet  long  and  the  boa-constrictor  was 
thirty-five  feet  long,  then  there  would  be  a  lot 
sticking  out  of  the  jaguar's  mouth.  How  could 
he  swallow  that?" 

"He'd  bite  it  off,"  said  Dimples.  "And  then 
another  slice  for  supper  and  another  for  break- 

[269] 


THREE   OF   THEM 


fast — but,  I  say,  Daddy,  a  'stricter  couldn't 
swallow  a  porkpine,  could  he?  He  would  have 
a  sore  throat  all  the  way  down." 

Shrieks  of  laughter  and  a  welcome  rest  for 
Daddy,  who  turned  to  his  paper. 

"Daddy!" 

He  put  down  his  paper  with  an  air  of  conscious 
virtue  and  lit  his  pipe. 

"Well,  dear?" 

"What's  the  biggest  snake  you  ever  saw?" 

"Oh,  bother  the  snakes!     I  am  tired  of  them." 

But  the  children  were  never  tired  of  them. 
Heredity  again,  for  the  snake  was  the  worst 
enemy  of  arboreal  man. 

"Daddy  made  soup  out  of  a  snake,"  said 
Laddie.  "Tell  us  about  that  snake,  Daddy." 

Children  like  a  story  best  the  fourth  or  fifth 
time,  so  it  is  never  any  use  to  tell  them  that  they 
know  all  about  it.  The  story  which  they  can 
check  and  correct  is  their  favourite. 

"Well,  dear,  we  got  a  viper  and  we  killed  it. 
Then  we  wanted  the  skeleton  to  keep  and  we 
didn't  know  how  to  get  it.  At  first  we  thought 
we  would  bury  it,  but  that  seemed  too  slow. 
Then  I  had  the  idea  to  boil  all  the  viper's  flesh 
[270] 


THREE   OF  THEM 


off  its  bones,  and  I  got  an  old  meat-tin  and  we 
put  the  viper  and  some  water  into  it  and  put  it 
above  the  fire." 

"You  hung  it  on  a  hook,  Daddy?" 

"Yes,  we  hung  it  on  the  hook  that  they  put 
the  porridge  pot  on  in  Scotland.  Then  just  as 
it  was  turning  brown  in  came  the  farmer's  wife, 
and  ran  up  to  see  what  we  were  cooking.  When 
she  saw  the  viper  she  thought  we  were  going  to 
eat  it.  'Oh,  you  dirty  divils!'  she  cried,  and 
caught  up  the  tin  in  her  apron  and  threw  it  out 
of  the  window." 

Fresh  shrieks  of  laughter  from  the  children, 
and  Dimples  repeated  "You  dirty  divil!"  until 
Daddy  had  to  clump  him  playfully  on  the  head. 

"Tell  us  some  more  about  snakes,"  cried 
Laddie.  "Did  you  ever  see  a  really  dreadful 
snake?" 

"One  that  would  turn  you  black  and  dead  you 
in  five  minutes?"  said  Dimples.  It  was  always 
the  most  awful  thing  that  appealed  to  Dimples. 

"Yes,  I  have  seen  some  beastly  creatures. 
Once  in  the  Sudan  I  was  dozing  on  the  sand  when 
I  opened  my  eyes  and  there  was  a  horrid  creature 

[271] 


THEEE   OF   THEM 


like  a  big  slug  with  horns,  short  and  thick,  about 
a  foot  long,  moving  away  in  front  of  me." 

"What  was  it,  Daddy?"  Six  eager  eyes  were 
turned  up  to  him. 

"It  was  a  death-adder.  I  expect  that  would 
dead  you  in  five  minutes,  Dimples,  if  it  got  a 
bite  at  you." 

"Did  you  kiU  it?" 

"No;  it  was  gone  before  I  could  get  to  it." 

"Which  is  the  horridest,  Daddy — a  snake  or  a 
shark?" 

"I'm  not  very  fond  of  either!" 

"Did  you  ever  see  a  man  eaten  by  sharks?" 

"No,  dear,  but  I  was  not  so  far  off  being  eaten 
myself." 

"Oo!"  from  all  three  of  them. 

"I  did  a  silly  thing,  for  I  swam  round  the  ship 
in  water  where  there  are  many  sharks.  As  I 
was  drying  myself  on  the  deck  I  saw  the  high 
fin  of  a  shark  above  the  water  a  little  way  off. 
It  had  heard  the  splashing  and  come  up  to  look 
for  me." 

"Weren't  you  frightened,  Daddy?" 

"Yes.  It  made  me  feel  rather  cold."  There 
was  silence  while  Daddy  saw  once  more  the 
[272] 


THREE   OF   THEM 


golden  sand  of  the  African  beach  and  the  snow- 
white  roaring  surf,  with  the  long,  smooth  swell 
of  the  bar. 

Children  don't  like  silences. 

"Daddy,"  said  Laddie.     "Do  zebus  bite?" 

"Zebus !  Why,  they  are  cows.  No,  of  course 
not." 

"But  a  zebu  could  butt  with  its  horns." 

"Oh,  yes,  it  could  butt." 

"Do  you  think  a  zebu  could  fight  a  crocodile?" 

"Well,  I  should  back  the  crocodile." 

"Why?" 

"Well,  dear,  the  crocodile  has  great  teeth  and 
would  eat  the  zebu." 

"But  suppose  the  zebu  came  up  when  the 
crocodile  was  not  looking  and  butted  it." 

"Well,  that  would  be  one  up  for  the  zebu. 
But  one  butt  wouldn't  hurt  a  crocodile." 

"No,  one  wouldn't,  would  it?  But  the  zebu 
would  keep  on.  Crocodiles  live  on  sand-banks, 
don't  they?  Well,  then,  the  zebu  would  come 
and  live  near  the  sand-bank  too — just  so  far  as 
the  crocodile  would  never  see  him.  Then  every 
time  the  crocodile  wasn't  looking  the  zebu  would 

[273] 


THREE   OF  THEM 


butt  him.  Don't  you  think  he  would  beat  the 
crocodile?" 

"Well,  perhaps  he  would." 

"How  long  do  you  think  it  would  take  the 
zebu  to  beat  the  crocodile?" 

"Well,  it  would  depend  upon  how  often  he 
got  in  his  butt." 

"Well,  suppose  he  butted  him  once  every 
three  hours,  don't  you  think ?" 

"Oh,  bother  the  zebu!" 

"That's  what  the  crocodile  would  say,"  cried 
Laddie,  clapping  his  hands. 

"Well,  I  agree  with  the  crocodile,"  said 
Daddy. 

"And  it's  time  all  good  children  were  in  bed," 
said  the  Lady  as  the  glimmer  of  the  Nurse's 
apron  was  seen  in  the  gloom. 

II. — ABOUT    CRICKET 

Supper  was  going  on  down  below  and  all  good 
children  should  have  been  long  ago  in  the  land 
of  dreams.  Yet  a  curious  noise  came  from  above. 

"What  on  earth ?"  asked  Daddy. 

"Laddie  practising  cricket,"  said  the  Lady, 
[274] 


THREE   OF   THEM 


with  the  curious  clairvoyance  of  motherhood. 
"He  gets  out  of  bed  to  bowl.  I  do  wish  you 
would  go  up  and  speak  seriously  to  him  about  it, 
for  it  takes  quite  an  hour  off  his  rest." 

Daddy  departed  upon  his  mission  intending 
to  be  gruff,  and  my  word,  he  can  be  quite  gruff 
when  he  likes !  When  he  reached  the  top  of  the 
stairs,  however,  and  heard  the  noise  still  con- 
tinue, he  walked  softly  down  the  landing  and 
peeped  in  through  the  half-opened  door. 

The  room  was  dark  save  for  a  night-light. 
In  the  dim  glimmer  he  saw  a  little  white-clad 
figure,  slight  and  supple,  taking  short  steps  and 
swinging  its  arm  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"Halloa!"  said  Daddy. 

The  white-clad  figure  turned  and  ran  forward 
to  him. 

"Oh,  Daddy,  how  jolly  of  you  to  come  up!" 

Daddy  felt  that  gruffness  was  not  quite  so 
easy  as  it  had  seemed. 

"Look  here!  You  get  into  bed!"  he  said,  with 
the  best  imitation  he  could  manage. 

"Yes,  Daddy.  But  before  I  go,  how  is  this?" 
He  sprang  forward  and  the  arm  swung  round 
again  in  a  swift  and  graceful  gesture. 

[275] 


THREE   OF   THEM 


Daddy  was  a  moth-eaten  cricketer  of  sorts, 
and  he  took  it  in  with  a  critical  eye. 

"Good,  Laddie.  I  like  a  high  action.  That's 
the  real  Spofforth  swing." 

"Oh,  Daddy,  come  and  talk  about  cricket!" 
He  was  pulled  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  the 
white  figure  dived  between  the  sheets. 

"Yes;  tell  us  about  cwicket!"  came  a  cooing 
voice  from  the  corner.  Dimples  was  sitting  up 
in  his  cot. 

"You  naughty  boy!  I  thought  one  of  you  was 
asleep,  anyhow.  I  mustn't  stay.  I  keep  you 
awake." 

"Who  was  PopofF?"  cried  Laddie,  clutching 
at  his  father's  sleeve.  "Was  he  a  very  good 
bowler?" 

"Spofforth  was  the  best  bowler  that  ever 
walked  on  to  a  cricket-field.  He  was  the  great 
Australian  Bowler  and  he  taught  us  a  great 
deal." 

"Did  he  ever  kill  a  dog?"  from  Dimples. 

"No,  boy.     Why?" 

"Because  Laddie  said  there  was  a  bowler  so 
fast  that  his  ball  went  frue  a  coat  and  killed  a 
dog." 

[276] 


THREE    OF   THEM 


"Oh,  that's  an  old  yarn.  I  heard  that  when  I 
was  a  little  boy  about  some  bowler  whose  name, 
I  think,  was  Jackson." 

"Was  it  a  big  dog?" 

"No,  no,  son ;  it  wasn't  a  dog  at  all." 

"It  was  a  cat,"  said  Dimples. 

"No;  I  tell  you  it  never  happened." 

"But  tell  us  about  Spofforth,"  cried  Laddie. 
Dimples,  with  his  imaginative  mind,  usually  wan- 
dered, while  the  elder  came  eagerly  back  to  the 
point.  "Was  he  very  fast?" 

"He  could  be  very  fast.  I  have  heard  crick- 
eters who  had  played  against  him  say  that  his 
yorker — that  is  a  ball  which  is  just  short  of  a 
full  pitch — was  the  fastest  ball  in  England.  I 
have  myself  seen  his  long  arm  swing  round  and 
the  wicket  go  down  before  ever  the  batsman  had 
time  to  ground  his  bat." 

"Oo!"  from  both  beds. 

"He  was  a  tall,  thin  man,  and  they  called  him 
the  Fiend.  That  means  the  Devil,  you  know." 

"And  was  he  the  Devil?" 

"No,  Dimples,  no.  They  called  him  that  be- 
cause he  did  such  wonderful  things  with  the 
ball." 

[277] 


THREE   OF  THEM 


"Can  the  Devil  do  wonderful  things  with  a 
ball?" 

Daddy  felt  that  he  was  propagating  devil- 
worship  and  hastened  to  get  to  safer  ground. 

"Spofforth  taught  us  how  to  bowl  and  Black- 
ham  taught  us  how  to  keep  wicket.  When  I  was 
young  we  always  had  another  fielder,  called  the 
long-stop,  who  stood  behind  the  wicket-keeper. 
I  used  to  be  a  thick,  solid  boy,  so  they  put  me  as 
long-stop,  and  the  balls  used  to  bounce  off  me, 
I  remember,  as  if  I  had  been  a  mattress." 

Delighted  laughter. 

"But  after  Blackham  came  wicket-keepers  had 
to  learn  that  they  were  there  to  stop  the  ball. 
Even  in  good  second-class  cricket  there  were  no 
more  long-stops.  We  soon  found  plenty  of 
good  wicket-keeps — like  Alfred  Lyttelton  and 
MacGregor — but  it  was  Blackham  who  showed 
us  how.  To  see  Spofforth,  all  india-rubber  and 
ginger,  at  one  end  bowling,  and  Blackham,  with 
his  black  beard  over  the  bails  waiting  for  the 
ball  at  the  other  end,  was  worth  living  for,  I  can 
teH  you." 

Silence  while  the  boys  pondered  over  this. 
But  Laddie  feared  Daddy  would  go,  so  he 
[278] 


THREE    OF   THEM 


quickly  got  in  a  question.  If  Daddy's  memory 
could  only  be  kept  going  there  was  no  saying 
how  long  they  might  keep  him. 

"Was  there  no  good  bowler  until  Spofforth 
came?" 

"Oh,  plenty,  my  boy.  But  he  brought  some- 
thing new  with  him.  Especially  change  of  pace 
— you  could  never  tell  by  his  action  up  to  the  last 
moment  whether  you  were  going  to  get  a  ball 
like  a  flash  of  lightning,  or  one  that  came  slow 
but  full  of  devil  and  spin.  But  for  mere  com- 
mand of  the  pitch  of  a  ball  I  should  think  Alfred 
Shaw,  of  Nottingham,  was  the  greatest  bowler 
I  can  remember.  It  was  said  that  he  could 
pitch  a  ball  twice  in  three  times  upon  a  half- 
crown!" 

"Oo!"     And  then  from  Dimples:— 

"Whose  half-crown?" 

"Well,  anybody's  half-crown." 

"Did  he  get  the  half-crown?" 

"No,  no;  why  should  he?" 

"Because  he  put  the  baU  on  it." 

"The  half-crown  was  kept  there  always  for 
people  to  aim  at,"  explained  Laddie. 

"No,  no,  there  never  was  a  half-crown." 

[279] 


THREE    OF   THEM 


Murmurs  of  remonstrance  from  both  boys. 

"I  only  meant  that  he  could  pitch  the  ball  on 
anything — a  half-crown  or  anything  else." 

"Daddy,"  with  the  energy  of  one  who  has  a 
happy  idea.  "Could  he  have  pitched  it  on  the 
batsman's  toe?" 

"Yes,  boy,  I  think  so." 

"Well,  then,  suppose  he  always  pitched  it  on 
the  batsman's  toe!" 

Daddy  laughed. 

"Perhaps  that  is  why  dear  old  W.  G.  always 
stood  with  his  left  toe  cocked  up  in  the  air." 

"On  one  leg?" 

"No,  no,  Dimples.  With  his  heel  down  and 
his  toe  up." 

"Did  you  know  W.  G.,  Daddy?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  knew  him  quite  well." 

"Was  he  nice?" 

Yes,  he  was  splendid.  He  was  always  like 
a  great  jolly  schoolboy  who  was  hiding  behind 
a  huge  black  beard." 

"Whose  beard?" 

"I  meant  that  he  had  a  great  bushy  beard. 
He  looked  like  the  pirate  chief  in  your  picture- 
books,  but  he  had  as  kind  a  heart  as  a  child.     I 
[280] 


THREE   OF   THEM 


have  been  told  that  it  was  the  terrible  things  in 
this   war   that   really    killed   him.     Grand   old 

w.  G.r 

"Was  he  the  best  bat  in  the  world,  Daddy?" 

"Of  course  he  was,"  said  Daddy,  beginning  to 
enthuse,  to  the  delight  of  the  clever  little  plotter 
in  the  bed.  "There  never  was  such  a  bat — 
never  in  the  world — and  I  don't  believe  there 
ever  could  be  again.  He  didn't  play  on  smooth 
wickets,  as  they  do  now.  He  played  where  the 
wickets  were  all  patchy,  and  you  had  to  watch 
the  ball  right  on  to  the  bat.  You  couldn't  look 
at  it  before  it  hit  the  ground  and  think,  'That's 
all  right.  I  know  where  that  one  will  be!'  My 
word,  that  was  cricket.  What  you  got  you 
earned." 

"Did  you  ever  see  W.  G.  make  a  hundred, 
Daddy?" 

"See  him !  I've  fielded  out  for  him  and  melted 
on  a  hot  August  day  while  he  made  a  hundred 
and  fifty.  There's  a  pound  or  two  of  your 
Daddy  somewhere  on  that  field  yet.  But  I  loved 
to  see  it,  and  I  was  always  sorry  when  he  got 
out  for  nothing,  even  if  I  were  playing  against 
him." 

[281] 


THREE   OF   THEM 


"Did  he  ever  get  out  for  nothing?" 

"Yes,  dear;  the  first  time  I  ever  played  in  his 
company  he  was  given  out  leg-before-wicket 
before  he  made  a  run.  And  all  the  way  to  the 
pavilion — that's  where  people  go  when  they  are 
out — he  was  walking  forward,  but  his  big  black 
beard  was  backward  over  his  shoulder  as  he  told 
the  umpire  what  he  thought." 

"And  what  did  he  think?" 

"More  than  I  can  tell  you,  Dimples.  But  I 
dare  say  he  was  right  to  be  annoyed,  for  it  was  a 
left-handed  bowler,  bowling  round  the  wicket, 
and  it  is  very  hard  to  get  leg-before  to  that. 
However,  that's  all  Greek  to  you." 

"What's  Gweek?" 

"Well,  I  mean  you  can't  understand  that. 
Now  I  am  going." 

"No,  no,  Daddy;  wait  a  moment!  Tell  us 
about  Bonner  and  the  big  catch." 

"Oh,  you  know  about  that!" 

Two  little  coaxing  voices  came  out  of  the 
darkness. 

"Oh,  please!    Please!" 

"I  don't  know  what  your  mother  will  say  I 
What  was  it  you  asked?" 
[282] 


THREE    OF  THEM 


"Bonner!" 

"Ah,  Bonner!"  Daddy  looked  out  in  the 
gloom  and  saw  green  fields  and  golden  sunlight, 
and  great  sportsmen  long  gone  to  their  rest. 
"Bonner  was  a  wonderful  man.  He  was  a  giant 
in  size." 

"As  big  as  you,  Daddy?" 

Daddy  seized  his  elder  boy  and  shook  him 
playfully.  "I  heard  what  you  said  to  Miss 
Cregan  the  other  day.  When  she  asked  you 
what  an  acre  was  you  said  'Abqut  the  size  of 
Daddy.'  " 

Both  boys  gurgled. 

"But  Bonner  was  five  inches  taller  than  I. 
He  was  a  giant,  I  tell  you." 

"Did  nobody  kill  him?" 

"No,  no,  Dimples.  Not  a  story-book  giant. 
But  a  great,  strong  man.  He  had  a  splendid 
figure  and  blue  eyes  and  a  golden  beard,  and  alto- 
gether he  was  the  finest  man  I  have  ever  seen — 
except  perhaps  one." 

"Who  was  the  one,  Daddy?" 

"Well,  it  was  the  Emperor  Frederick  of 
Germany." 

"A  Jarmanl"  cried  Dimples,  in  horror. 

[283] 


THREE   OF   THEM 


"Yes,  a  German.  Mind  you,  boys,  a  man  may 
be  a  very  noble  man  and  be  a  German — though 
what  has  become  of  the  noble  ones  these  last  three 
years  is  more  than  I  can  guess.  But  Frederick 
was  noble  and  good,  as  you  could  see  on  his  face. 
How  he  ever  came  to  be  the  father  of  such 
a  blasphemous  braggart" — Daddy  sank  into 
reverie. 

"Bonner,  Daddy!"  said  Laddie,  and  Daddy 
came  back  from  politics  with  a  start. 

"Oh,  yes,  Bonner.  Bonner  in  white  flannels 
on  the  green  sward  with  an  English  June  sun 
upon  him.  That  was  a  picture  of  a  man!  But 
you  asked  me  about  the  catch.  It  was  in  a  test 
match  at  the  Oval — England  against  Australia. 
Bonner  said  before  he  went  in  that  he  would  hit 
Alfred  Shaw  into  the  next  county,  and  he  set 
out  to  do  it.  Shaw,  as  I  have  told  you,  could 
keep  a  very  good  length,  so  for  some  time  Bonner 
could  not  get  the  ball  he  wanted,  but  at  last  he 
saw  his  chance,  and  he  jumped  out  and  hit  that 
ball  the  most  awful  ker-wallop  that  ever  was 
seen  in  a  cricket-field." 

"Oo!"  from  both  boys,  and  then:  "Did  it  go 
into  the  next  county,  Daddy?"  from  Dimples. 
[284] 


THREE   OF   THEM 


"Well,  I'm  telling  you!"  said  Daddy,  who  was 
always  testy  when  one  of  his  stories  was  inter- 
rupted. "Bonner  thought  he  had  made  the  ball 
a  half-volley — that  is  the  best  ball  to  hit — but 
Shaw  had  deceived  him  and  the  ball  was  really 
on  the  short  side.  So  when  Bonner  hit  it,  up  and 
up  it  went,  until  it  looked  as  if  it  were  going  out 
of  sight  into  the  sky." 

"Oo!" 

"At  first  everybody  thought  it  was  going  far 
outside  the  ground.  But  soon  they  saw  that  all 
the  giant's  strength  had  been  wasted  in  hitting 
the  ball  so  high,  and  that  there  was  a  chance  that 
it  would  fall  within  the  ropes.  The  batsmen  had 
run  three  runs  and  it  was  still  in  the  air.  Then 
it  was  seen  that  an  English  fielder  was  standing 
on  the  very  edge  of  the  field  with  his  back  on  the 
ropes,  a  white  figure  against  the  black  line  of 
the  people.  He  stood  watching  the  mighty 
curve  of  the  ball,  and  twice  he  raised  his  hands 
together  above  his  head  as  he  did  so.  Then  a 
third  time  he  raised  his  hands  above  his  head,  and 
the  ball  was  in  them  and  Bonner  was  out." 

"Why  did  he  raise  his  hands  twice?" 

"I  don't  know.     He  did  so." 

[285] 


THBEE   OF   THEM 


"And  who  was  the  fielder,  Daddy?" 
"The  fielder  was  G.  F.  Grace,  the  younger 
brother  of  W.  G.  Only  a  few  months  after- 
wards he  was  a  dead  man.  But  he  had  one 
grand  moment  in  his  life,  with  twenty  thousand 
people  all  just  mad  with  excitement.  Poor 
G.  F.!  He  died  too  soon." 

"Did  you  ever  catch  a  catch  like  that,  Daddy?" 
"No,  boy.     I  was  never  a  particularly  good 
fielder." 

"Did  you  never  catch  a  good  catch?" 
"Well,  I  won't  say  that.     You  see,  the  best 
catches  are  very  often  flukes,  and  I  remember 
one  awful  fluke  of  that  sort." 
"Do  tell  us,  Daddy?" 

"Well,  dear,  I  was  fielding  at  slip.  That  is 
very  near  the  wicket,  you  know.  Woodcock 
was  bowling,  and  he  had  the  name  of  being  the 
fastest  bowler  of  England  at  that  time.  It  was 
just  the  beginning  of  the  match  and  the  ball  was 
quite  red.  Suddenly  I  saw  something  like  a 
red  flash  and  there  was  the  ball  stuck  in  my  left 
hand.  I  had  not  time  to  move  it.  It  simply 
came  and  stuck." 
"Oo!" 
[286] 


THREE    OF   THEM 


"I  saw  another  catch  like  that.  It  was  done 
by  Ulyett,  a  fine  Yorkshire  player — such  a  big, 
upstanding  fellow.  He  was  bowling,  and  the 
batsman — it  was  an  Australian  in  a  test  match-*- 
hit  as  hard  as  ever  he  could.  Ulyett  could  not 
have  seen  it,  but  he  just  stuck  out  his  hand  and 
there  was  the  ball." 

"Suppose  it  had  hit  his  body?" 

"Well,  it  would  have  hurt  him." 

"Would  he  have  cried?"  from  Dimples. 

"No,  boy.  That  is  what  games  are  for,  to 
teach  you  to  take  a  knock  and  never  show  it. 
Supposing  that " 

A  step  was  heard  coming  along  the  passage. 

"Good  gracious,  boys,  here's  Mumty.  Shut 
your  eyes  this  moment.  It's  all  right,  dear.  I 
spoke  to  them  very  severely  and  I  think  they 
are  nearly  asleep." 

"What  have  you  been  talking  about?"  asked 
the  Lady. 

"Cwicket!"  cried  Dimples. 

"It's  natural  enough,"  said  Daddy ;  "of  course 
when  two  boys " 

"Three,"  said  the  Lady,  as  she  tucked  up  the 
little  beds. 

[287] 


THKEE   OF   THEM 


III. — SPECULATIONS 

The  three  children  were  sitting  together  in  a 
bunch  upon  the  rug  in  the  gloaming.  Baby  was 
talking,  so  Daddy  behind  his  newspaper  pricked 
up  his  ears,  for  the  young  lady  was  silent  as  a 
rule,  and  every  glimpse  of  her  little  mind  was  of 
interest.  She  was  nursing  the  disreputable  little 
downy  quilt  which  she  called  Wriggly  and  much 
preferred  to  any  of  her  dolls. 

"I  wonder  if  they  will  let  Wriggly  into  heav- 
en," she  said. 

The  boys  laughed.  They  generally  laughed  at 
what  Baby  said. 

"If  they  won't  I  won't  go  in,  either,"  she  added. 

"Nor  me,  neither,  if  they  don't  let  in  my 
Teddy-bear,"  said  Dimples. 

"I'll  tell  them  it  is  a  nice,  clean,  blue  Wrig- 
gly," said  Baby.  "I  love  my  Wriggly."  She 
cooed  over  it  and  hugged  it. 

"What  about  that,  Daddy?"  asked  Laddie,  in 
his  earnest  fashion.    "Are  there  toys  in  heaven, 
do  you  think?" 
[288] 


THKEE    OF   THEM 


"Of  course  there  are.  Everything  that  can 
make  children  happy." 

"As  many  toys  as  in  Hamley  s  shop?"  asked 
Dimples. 

"More,"  said  Daddy,  stoutly. 

"Oo!"  from  all  three. 

"Daddy,  dear,"  said  Laddie,  "I've  been  won- 
dering about  the  deluge." 

"Yes,  dear.    What  was  it?" 

"Well,  the  story  about  the  Ark.  All  those 
animals  were  in  the  Ark,  just  two  of  each,  for 
forty  days.  Wasn't  that  so?" 

"That  is  the  story." 

"Well  then,  what  did  the  carnivorous  animals 
eat?" 

One  should  be  honest  with  children  and  not 
put  them  off  with  ridiculous  explanations.  Their 
questions  about  such  matters  are  generally  much 
more  sensible  than  their  parents'  replies. 

"Well,  dear,"  said  Daddy,  weighing  his  words, 
"these  stories  are  very,  very  old.  The  Jews  put 
them  in  the  Bible,  but  they  got  them  from  the 
people  in  Babylon,  and  the  people  in  Babylon 
probably  got  them  from  some  one  else  away  back 
in  the  beginning  of  things.  If  a  story  gets  passed 

[289] 


THREE    OF   THEM 


down  like  that,  one  person  adds  a  little  and 
another  adds  a  little,  and  so  you  never  get  things 
quite  as  they  happened.  The  Jews  put  it  in  the 
Bible  exactly  as  they  heard  it,  but  it  had  been 
going  about  for  thousands  of  years  before  then." 

"So  it  was  not  true?" 

"Yes,  I  think  it  was  true.  I  think  there  was  a 
great  flood,  and  I  think  that  some  people  did 
escape,  and  that  they  saved  their  beasts,  just  as 
we  should  try  to  save  Nigger  and  the  Monkstown 
cocks  and  hens  if  we  were  flooded  out.  Then 
they  were  able  to  start  again  when  the  waters 
went  down,  and  they  were  naturally  very  grate- 
ful to  God  for  their  escape." 

"What  did  the  people  who  didn't  escape  think 
about  it?" 

"Well,  we  can't  tell  that." 

"They  wouldn't  be  very  grateful,  would  they?" 

"Their  time  was  come,"  said  Daddy,  who  was 
a  bit  of  a  Fatalist.  "I  expect  it  was  the  best 
thing." 

"It  was  jolly  hard  luck  on  Noah  being  swal- 
lowed  by   a  fish   after   all  his   trouble,"    said 
Dimples. 
[290] 


THREE   OF   THEM 


"Silly  ass!  It  was  Jonah  that  was  swallowed. 
Was  it  a  whale,  Daddy?" 

"A  whale!  Why,  a  whale  couldn't  swallow  a 
herring!" 

"A  shark,  then?" 

"Well,  there  again  you  have  an  old  story  which 
has  got  twisted  and  turned  a  good  deal.  No 
doubt  he  was  a  holy  man  who  had  some  great 
escape  at  sea,  and  then  the  sailors  and  others  who 
admired  him  invented  this  wonder." 

"Daddy,"  said  Dimples,  suddenly,  "should  we 
do  just  the  same  as  Jesus  did?" 

"Yes,  dear;  He  was  the  noblest  Person  that 
ever  lived." 

"Well,  did  Jesus  lie  down  every  day  from 
twelve  to  one?" 

"I  don't  know  that  He  did." 

"Well,  then,  I  won't  lie  down  from  twelve  to 
one." 

"If  Jesus  had  been  a  growing  boy  and  had 
been  ordered  to  lie  down  by  His  Mumty  and  the 
Doctor,  I  am  sure  He  would  have  done  so." 

"Did  He  take  malt  extract?" 

"He  did  what  He  was  told,  my  son — I  am  sure 

[291] 


THEEE   OF  THEM 


of  that.    He  was  a  good  man,  so  He  must  have 
been  a  good  boy — perfect  in  all  He  did." 

"Baby  saw  God  yesterday,"  remarked  Laddie, 
casually. 

Daddy  dropped  his  paper. 

"Yes,  we  made  up  our  mind  we  would  all  lie 
on  our  backs  and  stare  at  the  sky  until  we  saw 
God.  So  we  put  the  big  rug  on  the  lawn  and 
then  we  all  lay  down  side  by  side,  and  stared 
and  stared.  I  saw  nothing,  and  Dimples  saw 
nothing,  but  Baby  says  she  saw  God." 

Baby  nodded  in  her  wise  way. 

"I  saw  Him,"  she  said. 

"What  was  He  like,  then?" 

"Oh,  just  God." 

She  would  say  no  more,  but  hugged  her  Wrig- 
gly- 

The  Lady  had  entered  and  listened  with  some 
trepidation  to  the  frank  audacity  of  the  children's 
views.  Yet  the  very  essence  of  faith  was  in  that 
audacity.  It  was  all  so  unquestionably  real. 

"Which  is  strongest,  Daddy,  God  or  the 
Devil?"  It  was  Laddie  who  was  speculating 
now. 

"Why,  God  rules  everything  of  course." 
[292] 


THREE   OF   THEM 


"Then  why  doesn't  He  kill  the  Devil?" 

"And  scalp  him?"  added  Dimples. 

"That  would  stop  all  trouble,  wouldn't  it, 
Daddy?" 

Poor  Daddy  was  rather  floored.  The  Lady 
came  to  his  help. 

"If  everything  was  good  and  easy  in  this 
world,  then  there  would  be  nothing  to  fight 
against,  and  so,  Laddie,  our  characters  would 
never  improve." 

"It  would  be  like  a  football  match  with  all  the 
players  on  one  side,"  said  Daddy. 

"If  there  was  nothing  bad,  then  nothing  would 
be  good,  for  you  would  have  nothing  to  compare 
by,"  added  the  Lady. 

"Well,  then,"  said  Laddie,  with  the  remorse- 
less logic  of  childhood,  "if  that  is  so,  then  the 
Devil  is  very  useful;  so  he  can't  be  so  very  bad, 
after  all." 

"Well,  I  don't  see  that,"  Daddy  answered. 
"Our  Army  can  only  show  how  brave  it  is  by 
fighting  the  German  Emperor,  but  that  does  not 
prove  that  the  German  Emperor  is  a  very  nice 
person,  does  it  now? 

"Besides,"  Daddy  continued,  improving  the 

[293] 


THREE   OF   THEM 


occasion,  "y°u  must  not  think  of  the  Devil  as  a 
person.  You  must  think  of  all  the  mean  things 
one  could  do,  and  all  the  dirty  things,  and  all 
the  cruel  things,  and  that  is  really  the  Devil  you 
are  fighting  against.  You  couldn't  call  them  use- 
ful, could  you?" 

The  children  thought  over  this  for  a  little. 

"Daddy,"  said  Laddie,  "have  yaii'  ever  seen 
God?" 

"No,  my  boy.  But  I  see  His  works.  I  expect 
that  is  as  near  as  we  can  get  in  this  world.  Look 
at  all  the  stars  at  night,  and  think  of  the  Power 
that  made  them  and  keeps  each  in  its  proper 
place." 

"He  couldn't  keep  the  shooting  stars  in  their 
proper  place,"  said  Dimples. 

'I  expect  He  meant  them  to  shoot,"  said  Lad- 
die. 

"Suppose  they  all  shot,  what  jolly  nights  we 
should  have!"  cried  Dimples. 

"Yes,"  said  Laddie;  "but  after  one  night 
they  would  all  have  gone,  and  a  nice  thing  then !" 

"Well,  there's  always  the  moon,"  remarked 
Dimples.     "But,  Daddy,  is  it  true  that  God 
listens  to  all  we  say?" 
[294] 


THREE    OF   THEM 


"I  don't  know  about  that,"  Daddy  answered, 
cautiously.  You  never  know  into  what  trap  those 
quick  little  wits  may  lead  you.  The  Lady  was 
more  rash,  or  more  orthodox. 

"Yes,  dear,  He  does  hear  all  you  say." 

"Is  He  listenin'  now?" 

"Yes,  dear." 

"Well,  I  call  it  vewy  rude  of  Him!" 

Daddy  smiled,  and  the  Lady  gasped. 

"It  isn't  rude,"  said  Laddie.  "It  is  His  duty, 
and  He  has  to  notice  what  you  are  doing  and 
saying.  Daddy,  did  you  ever  see  a  fairy?" 

"No,  boy." 

"I  saw  one  once." 

Laddie  is  the  very  soul  of  truth,  quite  pain- 
fully truthful  in  details,  so  that  his  quiet  remark 
caused  attention. 

"Tell  us  about  it,  dear." 

He  described  it  with  as  little  emotion  as  if  it 
were  a  Persian  cat.  Perhaps  his  perfect  faith 
had  indeed  opened  something  to  his  vision. 

"It  was  in  the  day  nursery.  There  was  a 
stool  by  the  window.  The  fairy  jumped  on  the 
stool  and  then  down,  and  went  across  the  room." 

"What  was  it  dressed  like?" 

[295] 


THREE   OF   THEM 


"All  in  grey,  with  a  long  cloak.  It  was  about 
as  big  as  Baby's  doll.  I  could  not  see  its  arms, 
for  they  were  under  the  cloak." 

"Did  he  look  at  you?" 

"No,  he  was  sideways,  and  I  never  really  saw 
his  face.  He  had  a  little  cap.  That's  the  only 
fairy  I  ever  saw.  Of  course,  there  was  Father 
Christmas,  if  you  call  him  a  fairy." 

"Daddy,  was  Father  Christmas  killed  in  the 
war?" 

"No,  boy." 

"Because  he  has  never  come  since  the  war  be- 
gan. I  expect  he  is  fightin'  the  Jarmans."  It 
was  Dimples  who  was  talking. 

"Last  time  he  came,"  said  Laddie,  "Daddy 
said  one  of  his  reindeers  had  hurt  its  leg  in  the 
ruts  of  the  Monkstown  Lane.  Perhaps  that's 
why  he  never  comes." 

"He'll  come  all  right  after  the  war,"  said 
Daddy,  "and  he'll  be  redder  and  whiter  and 
jollier  than  ever."  Then  Daddy  clouded  sud- 
denly, for  he  thought  of  all  those  who  would  be 
missing  when  Father  Christmas  came  again.  Ten 
loved  ones  were  dead  from  that  one  household. 
[296] 


THREE    OF   THEM 


The  Lady  put  out  her  hand,  for  she  always  knew 
what  Daddy  was  thinking. 

"They  will  be  there  in  spirit,  dear." 
"Yes,  and  the  j  oiliest  of  the  lot,"  said  Daddy, 
stoutly.    "We'll  have  our  Father  Christmas  back 
and  all  will  be  well  in  England." 

"But  what  do  they  do  in  India?"  asked  Laddie. 
"Why,  what's  wrong  with  them?" 
"How  do  the  sledge  and  the  reindeer  get  across 
the  sea?    All  the  parcels  must  get  wet." 

"Yes,  dear,  there  have  been  several  com- 
plaints," said  Daddy,  gravely.  "Halloa,  here's 
Frances!  Time's  up!  Off  to  bed!" 

They  got  up  resignedly,  for  they  were  really 
very  good  children.  "Say  your  prayers  here  be- 
fore you  go,"  said  the  Lady.  The  three  little 
figures  all  knelt  on  the  rug,  Baby  still  cuddling 
her  Wriggly. 

"You  pray,  Laddie,  and  the  rest  can  join  in." 
"God  bless  every  one  I  love,"  said  the  high, 
clear  child-voice.  "And  make  me  a  good  boy, 
and  thank  You  so  much  for  all  the  blessings  of 
to-day.  And  please  take  care  of  Alleyne,  who 
is  fighting  the  Germans,  and  Uncle  Cosmo,  who 
is  fighting  the  Germans,  and  Uncle  Woodie,  who 

[297] 


THREE   OF   THEM 


is  fighting  the  Germans,  and  all  the  others  who 
are  fighting  the  Germans,  and  the  men  on  the 
ships  on  the  sea,  and  Grandma  and  Grandpa,  and 
Uncle  Pat,  and  don't  ever  let  Daddy  and  Mumty 
die.  That's  all." 

"And  please  send  plenty  sugar  for  the  poor 
people,"  said  Baby,  in  her  unexpected  way. 

"And  a  little  petrol  for  Daddy,"  said  Dimples. 

"Amen!"  said  Daddy.  And  the  little  figures 
rose  for  the  good-night  kiss. 

IV. — THE  LEATHERSKIN  TRIBE 

"Daddy !"  said  the  elder  boy.  "Have  you  seen 
wild  Indians?" 

"Yes,  boy." 

"Have  you  ever  scalped  one?" 

"Good  gracious,  no." 

"Has  one  ever  scalped  you?"  asked  Dimples. 

"Silly!"  said  Laddie.  "If  Daddy  had  been 
scalped  he  wouldn't  have  all  that  hair  on  his  head 
— unless  perhaps  it  grew  again!" 

"He  has  none  hair  on  the  very  top,"   said 
Dimples,  hovering  over  the  low  chair  in  which 
Daddy  was  sitting. 
[298] 


THREE   OF   THEM 


"They  didn't  scalp  you,  did  they,  Daddy?" 
asked  Laddie,  with  some  anxiety. 

"I  expect  Nature  will  scalp  me  some  of  these 
days." 

Both  boys  were  keenly  interested.  Nature  pre- 
sented itself  as  some  rival  chief. 

"When?"  asked  Dimples,  eagerly,  with  the  evi- 
dent intention  of  being  present. 

Daddy  passed  his  fingers  ruefully  through  his 
thinning  locks.  "Pretty  soon,  I  expect,"  said  he. 

"Oo!"  said  the  three  children.  Laddie  was  re- 
sentful and  defiant,  but  the  two  younger  ones 
were  obviously  delighted. 

"But  I  say,  Daddie,  you  said  we  should  have 
an  Indian  game  after  tea.  You  said  it  when  you 
wanted  us  to  be  so  quiet  after  breakfast.  You 
promised,  you  know." 

It  doesn't  do  to  break  a  promise  to  children. 
Daddy  rose  somewhat  wearily  from  his  comfort- 
able chair  and  put  his  pipe  on  the  mantelpiece. 
First  he  held  a  conference  in  secret  with  Uncle 
Pat,  the  most  ingenious  of  playmates.  Then  he 
returned  to  the  children.  "Collect  the  tribe,"  said 
he.  "There  is  a  Council  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
in  the  big  room.  Put  on  your  Indian  dresses  and 

[299] 


THREE   OF   THEM 


arm  yourselves.    The  great  Chief  will  be  there!" 

Sure  enough  when  he  entered  the  big  room  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  later  the  tribe  of  the  Leather- 
skins  had  assembled.  There  were  four  of  them, 
for  little  rosy  Cousin  John  from  next  door  always 
came  in  for  an  Indian  game.  They  had  all  In- 
dian dresses  with  high  feathers  and  wooden  clubs 
or  tomahawks.  Daddy  was  in  his  usual  untidy 
tweeds,  but  carried  a  rifle.  He  was  very  serious 
when  he  entered  the  room,  for  one  should  be  very 
serious  in  a  real  good  Indian  game.  Then  he 
raised  his  rifle  slowly  over  his  head  in  greeting 
and  the  four  childish  voices  rang  out  in  the  war- 
cry.  It  was  a  prolonged  wolfish  howl  which 
Dimples  had  been  known  to  offer  to  teach  elderly 
ladies  in  hotel  corridors.  "You  can't  be  in  our 
tribe  without  it,  you  know.  There  is  none  body 
about.  Now  just  try  once  if  you  can  do  it."  At 
this  moment  there  are  half-a-dozen  elderly  people 
wandering  about  England  who  have  been  made 
children  once  more  by  Laddie  and  Dimples. 

"Hail  to  the  tribe!"  cried  Daddy. 

"Hail,  Chief!"  answered  the  voices. 

"Red  Buffalo!" 

"Here!"  cried  Laddie. 

"Black  Bear!" 
[300] 


THREE   OF   THEM 


"Here!"  cried  Dimples. 

"White  Butterfly!" 

"Go  on,  you  silly  squaw!"  growled  Dimples. 

"Here,"  said  Baby. 

"Prairie  Wolf!" 

"Here,"  said  little  four-year-old  John. 

"The  muster  is  complete.  Make  a  circle  round 
the  camp-fire  and  we  shall  drink  the  fire-water  of 
the  Palefaces  and  smoke  the  pipe  of  peace." 

That  was  a  fearsome  joy.  The  fire-water  was 
ginger-ale  drunk  out  of  the  bottle,  which  was 
gravely  passed  from  hand  to  hand.  At  no  other 
time  had  they  ever  drunk  like  that,  and  it  made 
an  occasion  of  it  which  was  increased  by  the  owl- 
ish gravity  of  Daddy.  Then  he  lit  his  pipe  and 
it  was  passed  also  from  one  tiny  hand  to  an- 
other, Laddie  taking  a  hearty  suck  at  it,  which 
set  him  coughing,  while  Baby  only  touched  the 
end  of  the  amber  with  her  little  pink  lips.  There 
was  dead  silence  until  it  had  gone  round  and  re- 
turned to  its  owner. 

"Warriors  of  the  Leatherskins,  why  have  we 
come  here?"  asked  Daddy,  fingering  his  rifle. 

"Humpty  Dumpty,"  said  little  John,  and  the 
children  all  began  to  laugh,  but  the  portentous 

[301] 


THREE   OF   THEM 


gravity  of  Daddy  brought  them  back  to  the  war- 
rior mood. 

"The  Prairie  Wolf  has  spoken  truly,"  said 
Daddy.  "A  wicked  Paleface  called  Humpty 
Dumpty  has  taken  the  prairies  which  once  be- 
longed to  the  Leatherskins  and  is  now  camped 
upon  them  and  hunting  our  buffaloes,  What 
shall  be  his  fate?  Let  each  warrior  speak  in 
turn." 

"Tell  him  he  has  jolly  well  got  to  clear  out," 
said  Laddie. 

"That's  not  Indian  talk,"  cried  Dimples,  with 
all  his  soul  in  the  game.  "Kill  him,  great  Chief 
— him  and  his  squaw,  too."  The  two  younger 
warriors  merely  laughed  and  little  John  repeated 
"Humpty  Dumpty!" 

"Quite  right!  Remember  the  villain's  name!" 
said  Daddy.  "Now,  then,  the  whole  tribe  fol- 
lows me  on  the  war-trail  and  we  shall  teach  this 
Paleface  to  shoot  our  buffaloes." 

"Look  here,  we  don't  wan't  squaws,"  cried 
Dimples,  as  Baby  toddled  at  the  rear  of  the  pro- 
cession. "You  stay  in  the  wigwam  and  cook." 

A  piteous  cry  greeted  the  suggestion. 
[302] 


THREE   OF  THEM 


"The  White  Butterfly  will  come  with  us  and 
bind  up  the  wounds,"  said  Daddy. 

"The  squaws  are  jolly  good  as  torturers,"  re- 
marked Laddie. 

"Really,  Daddy,  this  strikes  me  as  a  most  im- 
moral game,"  said  the  Lady,  who  had  been  a 
sympathetic  spectator  from  a  corner,  doubtful  of 
the  ginger-ale,  horrified  at  the  pipe,  and  delighted 
at  the  complete  absorption  of  the  children. 

"Rather!"  said  the  great  Chief,  with  a  sad  re- 
lapse into  the  normal.  "I  suppose  that  is  why 
they  love  it  so.  Now,  then,  warriors,  we  go  forth 
on  the  war-trail.  One  whoop  all  together  before 
we  start.  Capital!  Follow  me,  now,  one  behind 
the  other.  Not  a  sound!  If  one  gets  separated 
from  the  others  let  him  give  the  cry  of  a  night  owl 
and  the  others  will  answer  with  the  squeak  of  the 
prairie  lizard." 

"What  sort  of  a  squeak,  please?" 

"Oh,  any  old  squeak  will  do.  You  don't  walk. 
Indians  trot  on  the  war-path.  If  you  see  any 
man  hiding  in  a  bush  kill  him  at  once,  but  don't 
stop  to  scalp  him " 

"Really,  dear!"  from  the  corner. 

[303] 


THKEE   OF  THEM 


"The  great  Queen  would  rather  that  you  scalp 
him.  Now,  then!  All  ready!  Start!" 

Away  went  the  line  of  figures,  Daddy  stooping 
with  his  rifle  at  the  trail,  Laddie  and  Dimples 
armed  with  axes  and  toy  pistols,  as  tense  and  se- 
rious as  any  Redskins  could  be.  The  other  two 
rather  more  irresponsible  but  very  much  absorbed 
all  the  same.  The  little  line  of  absurd  figures 
wound  in  and  out  of  the  furniture,  and  out  on  to 
the  lawn,  and  round  the  laurel  bushes,  and  into 
the  yard,  and  back  to  the  clump  of  trees.  There 
Daddy  stopped  and  held  up  his  hand  with  a  face 
that  froze  the  children. 

" Are  all  here?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  yes." 

"Hush,  warriors !  No  sound.  There  is  an  en- 
emy scout  in  the  bushes  ahead.  Stay  with  me, 
you  two.  You,  Red  Buffalo,  and  you,  Black 
Bear,  crawl  forward  and  settle  him.  See  that 
he  makes  no  sound.  What  you  do  must  be  quick 
and  sudden.  When  all  is  clear  give  the  cry  of 
the  wood-pigeon,  and  we  will  join  you." 

The  two  warriors  crawled  off  in  most  desperate 
earnest.  Daddy  leaned  on  his  gun  and  winked 
at  the  Lady,  who  still  hovered  fearfully  in  the 
[304] 


THREE   OF  THEM 


background  like  a  dear  hen  whose  chickens  were 
doing  wonderful  and  unaccountable  things.  The 
two  younger  Indians  slapped  each  other  and 
giggled.  Presently  there  came  the  "coo"  of  a 
wood-pigeon  from  in  front.  Daddy  and  the  tribe 
moved  forward  to  where  the  advance  guard  were 
waiting  in  the  bushes. 

"Great  Chief,  we  could  find  no  scout,"  said 
Laddie. 

"There  was  none  person  to  kill,"  added 
Dimples. 

The  Chief  was  not  surprised,  since  the  scout 
had  been  entirely  of  his  own  invention.  It  would 
not  do  to  admit  it,  however. 

"Have  you  found  his  trail?"  he  asked. 

"No,  Chief." 

"Let  me  look."  Daddy  hunted  about  with  a 
look  of  preternatural  sagacity  about  him.  "Be- 
fore the  snows  fell  a  man  passed  here  with  a  red 
head,  grey  clothes,  and  a  squint  in  his  left  eye. 
His  trail  shows  that  his  brother  has  a  grocer's 
shop  and  his  wife  smokes  cigarettes  on  the  sly." 

"Oh,  Daddy,  how  could  you  read  all  that?" 

"It's  easy  enough,  my  son,  when  you  get  the 
knack  of  it.  But  look  here,  we  are  Indians  on 

[305] 


THREE   OF  THEM 


the  war-trail,  and  don't  you  forget  it  if  you  value 
your  scalp!  Aha,  here  is  Humpty  Dumpty's 
trail!" 

Uncle  Pat  had  laid  down  a  paper  trail  from 
this  point,  as  Daddy  well  knew;  so  now  the  chil- 
dren were  off  like  a  little  pack  of  eager  harriers, 
following  in  and  out  among  the  bushes.  Pres- 
ently they  had  a  rest. 

"Great  Chief,  why  does  a  wicked  Paleface 
leave  paper  wherever  he  goes?" 

Daddy  made  a  great  effort. 

"He  tears  up  the  wicked  letters  he  has  writ- 
ten. Then  he  writes  others  even  wickeder  and 
tears  them  up  in  turn.  You  can  see  for  yourself 
that  he  leaves  them  wherever  he  goes.  Now,  war- 
riors, come  along!" 

Uncle  Pat  had  dodged  all  over  the  limited  gar- 
den, and  the  tribe  followed  his  trail.  Finally,  they 
stopped  at  a  gap  in  the  hedge  which  leads  into 
the  field.  There  was  a  little  wooden  hut  in  the 
field,  where  Daddy  used  to  go  and  put  up  a 
printed  cardboard:  "WORKING."  He  found  it 
a  very  good  dodge  when  he  wanted  a  quiet  smoke 
and  a  nap.  Usually  there  was  nothing  else  in 
the  field,  but  this  time  the  Chief  pushed  the  whole 
[306] 


THREE   OF   THEM 


tribe  hurriedly  behind  the  hedge,  and  whispered 
to  them  to  look  carefully  out  between  the 
branches. 

In  the  middle  of  the  field  a  tripod  of  sticks 
supported  a  kettle.  At  each  side  of  it  was  a 
hunched-up  figure  in  a  coloured  blanket.  Uncle 
Pat  had  done  his  work  skilfully  and  well. 

"You  must  get  them  before  they  can  reach 
their  rifles,"  said  the  Chief.  "What  about  their 
horses?  Black  Bear,  move  down  the  hedge  and 
bring  back  word  about  their  horses.  If  you  see 
none  give  three  whistles." 

The  whistles  were  soon  heard,  and  the  warrior 
returned. 

"If  the  horses  had  been  there,  what  would 
you  have  done?" 

"Scalped  them!"  said  Dimples. 

"Silly  ass!"  said  Laddie.  "Who  ever  heard  of 
a  horse's  scalp  ?  You  would  stampede  them." 

"Of  course,"  said  the  Chief.  "If  ever  you  see 
a  horse  grazing,  you  crawl  up  to  it,  spring  on  its 
back  and  then  gallop  away  with  your  head  look- 
ing under  its  neck  and  only  your  foot  to  be  seen. 
Don't  you  forget  it.  But  we  must  scupper  these 
rascals  on  our  hunting-grounds." 

[307] 


THREE  OF  THEM 


"Shall  we  crawl  up  to  them?" 

"Yes,  crawl  up.  Then  when  I  give  a  whoop 
rush  them.  Take  them  alive.  I  wish  to  have  a 
word  with  them  first.  Carry  them  into  the  hut. 
Go!" 

Away  went  the  eager  little  figures,  the  chubby 
babes  and  the  two  lithe,  active  boys.  Daddy 
stood  behind  the  bush  watching  them.  They  kept 
a  line  and  tip-toed  along  to  the  camp  of  the  stran- 
gers. Then  on  the  Chief's  signal  they  burst  into 
a  cry  and  rushed  wildly  with  waving  weapons 
into  the  camp  of  the  Palefaces.  A  moment  later 
the  two  pillow-made  trappers  were  being  dragged 
off  into  the  hut  by  the  whooping  warriors.  They 
were  up-ended  in  one  corner  when  the  Chief  en- 
tered, and  the  victorious  Indians  were  dancing 
about  in  front  of  them. 

"Anybody  wounded?"  asked  the  Chief. 

"No,  no." 

"Have  you  tied  their  hands?" 

With  perfect  gravity  Red  Buffalo  made  move- 
ments behind  each  of  the  pillows. 

"They  are  tied,  great  Chief." 

"What  shall  we  do  with  them?" 

"Cut  off  their  heads  1"  shrieked  Dimples,  who 
[308] 


THEEE   OF  THEM 


was  always  the  most  bloodthirsty  of  the  tribe, 
though  in  private  life  he  had  been  known  to  weep 
bitterly  over  a  squashed  caterpillar. 

"The  proper  thing  is  to  tie  them  to  a  stake," 
said  Laddie. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  killing  our  buffaloes?" 
asked  Daddy,  severely. 

The  prisoners  preserved  a  sulky  silence. 

"Shall  I  shoot  the  green  one?"  asked  Dimples, 
presenting  his  wooden  pistol. 

"Wait  a  bit!"  said  the  Chief.  "We  had  best 
keep  one  as  a  hostage  and  send  the  other  back  to 
say  that  unless  the  Chief  of  the  Palefaces  pays  a 
ransom  within  three  days " 

But  at  that  moment,  as  a  great  romancer  used 
to  say,  a  strange  thing  happened.  There  was  the 
sound  of  a  turning  key  and  the  whole  tribe  of  the 
Leatherskins  was  locked  into  the  hut.  A  moment 
later  a  dreadful  face  appeared  at  the  window,  a 
face  daubed  with  mud  and  overhung  with  grass, 
which  drooped  down  from  under  a  soft  cap.  The 
weird  creature  danced  in  triumph,  and  then 
stooped  to  set  a  light  to  some  paper  and  shavings 
near  the  window. 

[309] 


THREE  OF  THEM 


"Heavens!"  cried  the  Chief.  "It  is  Yellow 
Snake,  the  ferocious  Chief  of  the  Bottlenoses !" 

Flame  and  smoke  were  rising  outside.  It  was 
excellently  done  and  perfectly  safe,  but  too  much 
for  the  younger  warriors.  The  key  turned,  the 
door  opened,  and  two  tearful  babes  were  in  the 
arms  of  the  kneeling  Lady.  Red  Buffalo  and 
Black  Bear  were  of  sterner  stuff. 

"I'm  not  frightened,  Daddy,"  said  Laddie, 
though  he  looked  a  little  pale. 

"Nor  me,"  cried  Dimples,  hurrying  to  get 
out  of  the  hut. 

"We'll  lock  the  prisoners  up  with  no  food  and 
have  a  council  of  war  upon  them  in  the  morning," 
said  the  Chief.  "Perhaps  we've  done  enough  to- 
day." 

"I  rather  think  you  have,"  said  the  Lady,  as  she 
soothed  the  poor  little  sobbing  figures. 

"That's  the  worst  of  having  kids  to  play,"  said 
Dimples.  "Fancy  having  a  squaw  in  a  war- 
party!" 

"Never  mind,  we've  had  a  jolly  good  Indian 
game,"  said  Laddie,  as  the  sound  of  a  distant 
bell  called  them  all  to  the  nursery  tea. 

[310] 


\  TA 


I  F 


University  of  California 

^nf^V,1""!^  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 
405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 
Return  this  material  to  the  library 
from  which  It  was  borrowed. 


APR  1  9  1999 
Unless 


REC'D  LD-URL 


A     000  024  466     5 


